Players Guide to High Clans (Dark Ages)

By Michael A. Goodwin, Kylee M. Hartman, Steven Kenson, Jacob Klünder, Carrie Ann Lewis, Ari Marmell, Matthew J. Rourke Vampire created by Mark Rein•Hagen • TABLE OF CONTENTS •

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Credits

Acknowledgments

Authors: Michael A. Goodwin (Birthrights and Bitter Secrets), Kylee M. Hartman (Prelude, Once and Future Kings (Traditions and Perversions)), Steven Kenson (Once and Future Kings (Lasombra, Toreador, Venture, Tactics, Traditions and Perversions)), Jacob Klünder (Noble by Association, Birthrights and Bitter Secrets (Advanced Disciplines)), Carrie Ann Lewis (Those Who Rule the Night), Ari Marmell (Once and Future Kings (Brujah, Cappadocian, Tzimisce, Domains of the High Clans)), Matthew J. Rourke (Playing the High Clans). Vampire and World of Darkness created by Mark Rein•Hagen. Storyteller game system designed by Mark Rein•Hagen Additional Material: Janet Trautvetter Consultants: C. A. Suleiman, Janet Trautvetter Development: Matthew McFarland Editor: Janice M. Sellers Art Direction, Layout & Typesetting: Becky Jollensten Interior Art: Colin Adams, Mike Chaney, David Day, Jim Di Bartolo, Quinton Hoover, Alex Shiekman, James Stowe, and Tim Truman Front Cover Art: Adrian Smith Front & Back Cover Design: Becky Jollensten

The authors and developer would like to acknowledge the fine work of the authors of Clanbook: Cappadocian and the Libellus Sanguinis series: Justin Achilli (Cappadocian), Craig Bolin (Ventrue), Richard Dansky (Lasombra), Robert Hatch (Tzimisce), Richard Stratton (Brujah), Cynthia Summers (Toreador). Your work was invaluable to ours.

© 2003 White Wolf Publishing, Inc... All rights reserved. Reproduction without the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire, Vampire the Masquerade, Vampire the Dark Ages, Mage the Ascension, Hunter the Reckoning, World of Darkness and Aberrant are registered trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Werewolf the Apocalypse, Wraith the Oblivion, Changeling the Dreaming, Werewolf the Wild West, Mage the Sorcerers Crusade, Wraith the Great War, Trinity, Dark Ages Storytellers Companion, Dark Ages Vampire, Dark Ages Mage, Dark Ages Europe, Right of Princes, Spoils of War, Bitter Crusade, Under the Black Cross, Cainite Heresy, Constantinople by Night, Jerusalem by Night, Libellus Sanguinis I Masters of the State, Libellus Sanguinis II Keepers of the Word, Libellus Sanguinis III Wolves at the Door, Libellus Sanguinis IV Thieves in the Night, The Ashen Knight, The Ashen Thief, Road of the Beast, Road of Kings, Road of Heaven, Road of Sin, Iberia by Night, Transylvania by Night, House of Tremere, Wolves of the Sea, Fountains of Bright Crimson, Wind from the East, Veil of Night and Players Guide to High Clans are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc. The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned. This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised. For a free White Wolf catalog call 1-800-454-WOLF. Check out White Wolf online at http://www.white-wolf.com; alt.games.whitewolf and rec.games.frp.storyteller PRINTED IN CANADA.

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Table of Contents Prelude: When the Waters Stop Introduction Chapter One: Once and Future Kings Chapter Two: Playing the HighClans Chapter Three: Noble by Association Chapter Four: Birthrights and Bitter Secrets Chapter Five: Those Who Rule the Night

• TABLE OF CONTENTS •

5 13 17 93 125 147 211

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Prelude: When the Waters Stop I still fear sleeping in silence. When I was little, I needed silence to sleep. My room in Lisbon faced the ocean and when I learned to fear death, the waves reminded me that the water would flow even after I died. From that time, I slept in my mother’s room — I couldn’t hear the water there. Mother told me not to fear death, and she told me stories of women who sacrificed their lives. I was nine when Mother died. My father and I left our Lisbon manor for a small cottage outside Venice. Unlike the waters of Lisbon, the waters of Venice had no sense of control, and they often flooded our land with moisture and muddy smells. My new room was dank and looked out over an unruly creek. The coarse wooden walls were always moist, and mildew shared its pungent stench with the rotting leaves from outside. Though I missed the salty clean scent of Lisbon, I enjoyed listening to the creek at night as I studied. Father would interrupt me when it was time to rest. He’d placed a cup of water on my table. “Good work yesterday,” he’d say. “But not perfect.” I’d nod. “Blow out the candles before you sleep.” I would watch him walk to the door. “Drink your water,” he would say over his shoulder. This was our evening ritual. He would leave and I’d drink the water, lie down and listen to the creek trickling over rocks. Unlike the ocean, the creek’s melody changed. I would wait for the water to stop. It never did, and its ebb and flow lulled me to sleep. ††† My father and I lived our lives structured by a water clock, or clepsydra as he called it. It told us when to start a task or when to change studies. My studies were endless, and they were the most important things. Besides that, my only chores were resetting the clepsydra and preparing the food. That included going to market and gathering the food.

• PRELUDE • • • PRELUDE

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“For your husband may not have slaves to cook for his family,” he’d say. I had trouble in the market after I questioned Christianity before the vegetable peddler. I didn’t know anyone was listening and I never thought my words would bring such repercussions. The next time I went to market, Christobal approached me. I knew him to be a scholar but avoided him because he was a crusader. “Tell me your name,” he demanded. “Mary of Nazareth and you stole my son!” I replied in Greek. I was gone before he translated my words. When I told Father what happened, he laughed. “I’ll send the slave girl from now on.” He took my hand. “Soon you will marry and go with your husband to my estate in Lisbon.” ††† Father never found me a husband. He was an exceptional physician, and often away. Even foreign courts requested his talent. He traveled to far-off places and told me of the waters he saw. He described to me surreal and dangerous worlds. I sometimes worried that he might leave forever, but he always returned with a story to tell and a book to read. His return from Aragon, my eighteenth year, was different. There were no stories, and he had no books. “When you’re 20, I will send you to a friend at a university in Lisbon,” he told me. “I can’t leave you behind anymore.” I asked to go with him. “No, no,” he finally said. “My work can wait two years.” ††† A year later, Christobal came to my father and demanded to see me. I stayed in my room and listened to them talk. “She is not here,” my father said. “She’s wanted for heresy,” Christobal replied. “The clergymen want to execute her. If she marries me, I will protect her.” “Would you marry a Jew?” “She inspires rebellions with a few words,” Christobal replied. “You know well that I can use her talents in our courts.” Courts? My head suddenly spun with questions and I kept listening for answers. Father wasn’t confused. “And you would curse her to that?” Christobal spoke next. “If you give her to me, she will endure a long and vibrant existence under my protection.” I heard the floor rock beneath someone’s footsteps. “If you want her to exist at all, bring her to me.” The door creaked open as he continued. “Otherwise I will have to deliver her ashes to the Church.” The door slammed. ††† Father booked passage to Byzantium, and I didn’t need to ask why. Yet a Byzantine came to us. My father tore me away from my studies to introduce me.

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“Issachar, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Floretta.” My father rattled in Hebrew. “He is not married,” he whispered to me in Portuguese. “He’s from Byzantium.” I studied this stranger as he tinkered with our clepsydra. He was androgynous and his face wore the feminine features of a youth. Yet he carried himself like a man. Like my father, he wore a purple physician’s cloak, but his was velvet to indicate his nobility. Besides his youthful beauty, he looked ill. His skin was a sickly pale, and even his breath was so shallow as to be unnoticeable. The Byzantine emptied the water from the clepsydra. I hated him. “Welcome, intruder,” I spoke Portuguese, believing he would not understand. “Are you too ill to figure out why that clepsydra needs water, or does time mean nothing to the dead?” Issachar’s face twisted. “Pardon?” He understood well. I had offended him and I would have smiled if his eyes weren’t invading mine. I refused to look away. “My daughter thinks you’re sick,” my father stammered in Hebrew. “She knows my work. She’s already delivered two children, though her Portuguese is rusty.” Issachar ignored my father and broke away from my eyes to streak the table with the water from the clepsydra. I had won. “Get out,” I finally said. Issachar moved to me. His wet hand held my chin up as his eyes raped mine. He said I would never marry. I didn’t care. Issachar looked to my father. “Your daughter’s knowledge is a threat to the community and if you do not go to Britain, I will turn her in for heresy.” “You’re too late for that,” I snapped. “Silence,” Issachar whispered. I listened. “Floretta.” My father spoke. “Why don’t you go to bed? I will bring you your water before you sleep.” I looked to the stranger. He turned away. ††† After Father left, I began to have nightmares that the waters stopped. In my dream, the silence woke me. The room was always murky and a body blocked the moon from my face. “You didn’t drink your water.” The body had Issachar’s voice. He handed me a small metal cup. I swallowed its liquid and grimaced at its filmy metallic flavor. “It won’t taste so bad if you drink it right after you pour it,” he said. “I thought I told you to leave.” “You need someone to watch you.” ††† My nightmares often began with that, but each ended differently. In the first, Issachar left. In the second, he held me, and in the third, he took my virginity and allowed me to experience the passion my father had taught me to fear. That passion made me soft. For the first time in years, I slept in silence. I believed that I finally had the husband I needed to save me. Yet when I woke, Issachar was gone, and there

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

was no sign of virginal blood. I still felt the passion and it began to destroy me. In the fourth dream, I asked Issachar to marry me. In the fifth, he said no. In the sixth, he left before I fell asleep, and he continued to do so from then on. From then on, I’d often wake feeling lost and disoriented. My studies drained me and a dizzying sensation stirred my gut. I chose to waste away in bed and listen to the stream. What kept me alive was the water I drank. ††† The night I decided to die was the last night I dreamt of Issachar. I didn’t pour the water as usual. Instead, I took an old knife to my room and cut my wrists the way my father did to end the pain of the dying. I snuffed the candle and rested on my bed. I lowered my wrists to the floor on either side of me and imagined my blood flowing to the watery chorus of the creek. When the chorus stopped, Issachar held me. It was the first time I saw him in candlelight. “Let me die,” I whispered. “I can’t,” he replied. “You’re a philosopher, not a woman.” His hand reached for the knife. “That is why you can’t marry.” “Then stay with me.” I watched him bunch his wide sleeve under his arm. “I can’t.” He cut his wrist. I felt a heated ball knot in my throat. “You’re cursing me,” I snapped. “I won’t curse you tonight.” He brought his bleeding wrist to my lips. “Drink.” “Blood?” I wanted to drink. My soul was a mess of desire for the liquid, but my craving was irrational. “You are corrupting me.” Issachar smiled. “Only a true philosopher would go against her irrational desires.” “By that logic, I shouldn’t drink.” “You need nourishment.” “Blood won’t save me.” “Jesus saved thousands with his blood.” I managed to laugh. “You are not a savior.” Issachar’s regal presence looked ridiculous in that plasma-hued candlelight. In noble velvet, he sat posed on my dirty bed as if it were a throne. He even slit his wrists for me. “I could be,” he answered. “Then save me!” “Drink.” I drank. ††† When it ended, he stood and told me he had to let this moment go. I told him to stay. “If I do, the sun won’t rise.” “You can’t stop the sun from rising.” I laughed. “If you can stop the sun and the waters, end my desires for you.” “Ah, but then I can’t return.” “Fine,” I said. “Leave and let the sun rise. I’ll burn like a demon and prove that you aren’t my savior.”

“You haven’t had enough blood to burn in the sun.” He approached the door. “Then give me more.” The desperation in my voice scared me. “I hate that sun.” Issachar glared at me. “You are blind, Floretta. I am from a cave of shadows and I won’t bring you here until you see the sun itself.” He left. ††† When I woke, things weren’t as I remembered. My wrists lacked scars, but blood stained my floor. The cup sat on my table and the candle had burnt down. The knife was gone. I wondered if the nightmare had been real, or if I was mad. Nightmares sometimes did that. I decided to ignore these dreams and move on. That day I left the house for the first time in weeks. The sun rejuvenated me and I ignored the clepsydra to enjoy its warmth. Like a child, I swam, ran, danced, sang and napped. I felt reborn, but that was the last day of my youth. That evening I sent the slave girl to market and fell asleep in the common room, waiting for her. A loud thud broke my slumber. The door broke loose as I opened my eyes. Five men stared at me from its frame. One soldier pointed to me. “She’s the one who started it!” I stood as they approached. Their leader pinned my neck to the wall and began interrogating me. I recognized him as Christobal. “Did you or did you not deliver Yuliette Giovanni’s child?” I nodded. That wasn’t a crime. He tightened his grip. “Yuliette died in the sun yesterday. Only demons die that way.” I smirked. “Do you really believe in such things?” He slapped me. “We’ve heard rumors about Ezekiel Cohen’s daughter. She can heal, she can think, and she can enchant people to forsake the Church.” “I’m guilty.” I mocked him, realizing that my respect would get me nowhere. He pressed at my throat. “Are you a creature of the damned?” I spat at him but he continued. “Did you call yourself Mary of Nazareth or not?” Despite his grasp, I smiled and nodded eagerly. He released his hand and I collapsed. Christobal addressed his soldiers. “Take what you want and bring her to me tomorrow night.” These men advanced. Their armed bodies blurred in my vision as I looked for an escape. “Christobal!” A female voice broke the chaos of the room. “That’s not what a true Christian would do!” I looked to the front door and saw a girl younger than me. She wore her hair in braids that crowned her head, and her gown was a creamy silk. “Shame!” Her voice was theatrical and she reminded me of a carnival girl who demanded attention. “Ah, Katarin, the virgin whore of Thessalonica.” Christobal sneered. She smiled back. “I demand you release this woman.” “She answers to you?”

• PRELUDE •

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“She answers to Barcelona’s court. I am to deliver her to Prince Mireia.” “Perhaps you’d like to deliver to me first!” a guard near the door chided. All but Christobal snickered. “Silence!” The girl commanded. “You call yourselves men of Christ? That Jew is more chaste than you.” I saw one man bite his lips as another looked to his feet. All but Christobal froze breathless, and even I had difficulty breathing. Katarin approached Christobal and locked her steel-blue eyes with his. They stared at one another for a long time. I backed to the stairwell and watched the other soldiers ease to the door. We watched the duo as if they were performing a dance. They seemed to glow and I didn’t know who was the fairer. Christobal drew his sword, but another met his chest. Katarin held its hilt, her arm steadying the blade as if it were part of the sword itself. She smiled. “Floretta would make a fine Brujah.” The tip of her sword unlatched Christobal’s blade from his hand. It fell with a clank. “But she’s not yours.” Katarin advanced Christobal to the door, and her eyes never left his. Her voice demanded his submission. “Get your sheep out of here.” ††† When they left the front door, Katarin latched my wrist with her free hand and yanked me to the back door. “We must go,” she said. “What?” I stammered. “I can’t go. Who are you?” “We don’t have time to stop now.” She allowed her dress to tear for the sake of opening the door. She amazed me. “Prince Mireia needs you.” “Who is he?” Katarin smiled wryly as she shoved the door open. “She, and I promise to tell you later.” Katarin stopped. “I almost forgot.” She ran back to the front door to pick up a book; she must have dropped it before when talking to Christobal. “Your father is waiting for you too.” She handed me the book. I read my father’s inscription as I followed Katarin out the door. “About Mireia,” Katarin stopped again to whisper. “I think she’s a harlot!” I watched her face twist into a smile so childish that I forgot her stale eyes. ††† We spent twelve days sailing to Barcelona. I watched the sunrise against the watery horizon every morning and awaited the reunion with my father. Yet my nights were bothersome. I heard the water, of course, but Katarin’s odd habits kept me awake. She also avoided the sun and she drank the blood of rats. I asked her why she didn’t eat the herring instead. “If I were an animal, I’d be a fish,” she replied as she flung a dead rat over her shoulder. She drank at least ten rats a night and then gave me my water. The first few days were comfortable. Katarin wrote about the movement of rocks, and I read the copy of the Aeneid my father had given me. “Who is Dido?” Katarin asked one night as she twiddled a pebble between her fingers. “She’s the philosopher queen of Carthage.”

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“Right.” Katarin closed her eyes and tossed her back against the wall. “Carthage,” she sang. “I remember Carthage.” Katarin was mad. On the fifth night, I found her staring at the ceiling. “There are no more rats,” she whispered. “I ate them all.” On the sixth night, Katarin disappeared. On the seventh, I found her with a dead man. She stared at me in the moonlight, her eyes wide in shock. She released the corpse to lick her fingers. Blood stained her gown, and the angry wind tore at her long auburn curls. The next night, I tried to hide from Katarin, but she found me. When she did, she sat a cup next to me and fell quiet until I looked at her. “I’ve been unfair to you,” she confessed. “I am a Cainite — a vampire. Issachar is my mentor and you crave the water we mix with our blood.” I wondered if I was still dreaming. In the end, it didn’t matter. At least Katarin seemed real. She was there when I fell asleep and she was there when I woke. She never harmed me and instead became my sister. ††† When we docked, we bathed, dressed and went to court. Barcelona’s court was make-believe. Its members were androgynous and destructively beautiful. Beings in gowns of satin and velvet wore their hair in long silken tresses. They stood, unmoved, and stared at us as if ready to fight. They were too strong to be women. I saw other beings with cropped hair, or beards. They wore glistening armor or tunics shaded in deep crimsons, violets or emeralds and their eyes clashed against their skin. Yet they were too beautiful to be men. Whether strong or beautiful, all moved with precise grace. Three beings, two beautiful and one strong, walked to a platform in front of us. The strong one, a girlish figure with onyx hair, sat in the chair and smoothed her hands over the ruby brocade of her gown. She beckoned us forth, and as we approached her, the sea of her audience parted to allow us passage. I felt their eyes destroy me only to reshape me in their image. I glanced to Katarin. Her earthy voice made me realize that she was different. She was real, and they weren’t. She whispered. “Pretend you’re Dido.” The woman in red scrutinized us. Even this woman was a mirage amid this theatric carnival. Everything was too perfect not to have been rehearsed. The scene was set and my line was up. “So, this is the famous Floretta of Lisbon?” I don’t remember the woman approaching me, but her fingers now cupped my chin. She whispered, “And you’re the illuminator Issachar’s ward promised us?” I didn’t know what an illuminator was, but I felt the need to nod. “She’s in training, Prince Mireia.” Katarin saved me from this woman’s eyes. “She’s talented at penmanship.” “But she’s not trained?” Mireia smirked as she shoved me. “Dearest Katarin of Thessalonica, I asked for a trained

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

illuminator, not some farm girl.” Mireia was sitting again. “You failed me, and in failing, you need to meet up to our agreement.” I watched Mireia grin like children do when reporting the scandalous secrets of their siblings. “Tell this Court what you really are.” The silence felt so thick that it seemed as if time stood still. I looked to Katarin and then to the sea of eyes drowning us. It didn’t bother me because these noblemen performed everything. Even the dialogue seemed hollow. “Brujah,” Katarin finally confessed. Mireia laughed. “Fellow Cainites, Katarin isn’t what you think.” “Her words are true, your highness!” Issachar followed his voice to the throne. “I saw to it myself that Floretta is as good as any scribe you’ve had. Katarin is indeed Brujah, and she wouldn’t be my ward if she weren’t.” The two of them fought a battle with their eyes. Mireia dropped her gaze first. Issachar looked to the sea of curious spectators before us. “Friends of Aragon,” he began. “I present to you my prospective childe, Floretta of Lisbon. Her father died and he willed her to my care. Yet I shall leave her for five years so she may repay whatever burdens her father and I have bestowed upon you. I wish to thank your prince and your council for their hospitality.” ††† The next night Katarin left with Issachar. A week later, Mireia instructed a young man to see to me. He called himself Tobias and he was gentle, if not passive. He claimed to be a Toreador but I called him a fop. He laughed. “Ah, the lady has spark! No wonder the Brujah want you.” “Brujah?” I asked. “Katarin, you mean?” Tobias shook his head. “Christobal sent me to fetch you.” I felt ill. “The crusader?” Tobias grinned. “He had me watch you from afar, but he didn’t expect me to fall in love with you. If only I could claim your beauty for Clan Toreador.” “Clan Toreador?” I finally shouted out of frustration. “What are these clans that are trying to claim me?” “Have they not told you anything?” “You’re blood-drinking corpses.” “We are, yes. I thought your father would have told you by now.” Tobias offered me a chair, but I didn’t sit. “He mentioned you when he first came to Iberia,” he continued. “He has since served our kind, and he sought this existence for you as an alternative to marriage.” I couldn’t believe him. “My father wouldn’t condemn me to damnation.” “You can’t believe in damnation if you don’t believe in God.” I lost my voice. Tobias continued. “Issachar offered to Embrace you, but Christobal said he would let me marry you if he got to you first.”

“What?” Tobias was a fool. “Christobal wants me dead.” Tobias pulled my hand to his chest. “I humbly apologize! I loved you.” I wanted to believe Tobias was acting, but he seemed to be the only genuine man in Barcelona’s court. I looked at Tobias as he began to explain himself. ††† We talked all night. Tobias told me what he desired and he asked me what I wanted. I became compelled to tell him everything. I told him about my mother, my father and our slaves. He comforted me in my mourning, and he tried to enlighten me in the ways of Cainites. Though confused, I paid attention. I in turn spoke of my academic endeavors, which were beyond his understanding. He listened anyway, and his patience was so earnest that I even told him that I feared silence. “I’ll sing you to sleep then.” he winked at me. “What’s an illuminator?” I finally asked. ††† An illuminator artistically copies manuscripts. She is responsible for preserving the words of bygone days, but she is to preserve only. She doesn’t read, think or ask questions. She only imitates. I was not an imitator. Tobias told me to pretend. “If they ask,” he said, “tell them you can’t read.” Because I claimed to be illiterate, Mireia allowed me to copy everything from tawdry laws to esoteric philosophies. It was in this way that I learned of Brujah’s betrayer and the fall of Carthage. I learned too of Philo the Jew, the Noddist fragments, the Koran, the Amici Noctis and the War of Princes. I learned of the heresies, the names of other princes, the secret libraries and their forbidden lore. ††† When Tobias asked me to be his courtesan, I agreed as long as I could continue my studies. The life of a courtesan was one of perfected courtly love. I admired Tobias but I didn’t love him. I grew bored with this existence and boredom led me to seek out the hidden libraries during the day when the nightly court slept. ††† The fifth year came, but Issachar didn’t. Mireia assumed that Tobias was enough to keep me obedient. I therefore avoided her presence and spent more time in her stone libraries. Dido was my new obsession and I spent hours reading the first book of the Aeneid. I craved her power and I would fall asleep dreaming that I was the queen of Carthage. “She kills herself, you know.” My chest began to clot with air as a chilled voice melted my dreams. The rich voice itself urged me to roll on my back and seek its source. The speaker was a man whose body shaded me from the torch. He held his hand out. Though his face remained obscure, I recognized his posture as that belonging to Christobal. “When her love leaves, she falls to her passions and abandons her land.” I looked to the man and he continued. “I saw you do that.” Christobal stepped back, and I watched

• PRELUDE •

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the torchlight shower his body. His skin reminded me of polished marble and contrasted beautifully with the onyx that polished his eyes. He wore a brilliant crimson cloak, and the torchlight dusted its folds in iridescent shades of gold and copper. He was my murderer, and for the first time, his presence consumed me. “Dido forgot the fair lessons of stoic philosophy. In the end she lost control and killed herself.” He smirked. “You’ll do the same.” I shook my head. “I can’t read such lessons.” His shadow loomed over the cracked stone floor. I told myself that this floor was all we shared, but now his hand took my chin and he forced his eyes into mine. “Never deceive me again, my childe.” His eyes were divine but his voice twisted in cruelty. “I am not your child,” I stammered. Christobal smirked and looked to the door as he yanked a folded piece of parchment from his belt. “Here are the directions to this chamber, Floretta,” he announced as he unfolded the parchment before me. “You transcribed them, and followed them. If you can’t read, how did you get here, and why do you come?” He pushed the paper to my face. “That is your handwriting, is it not?” I nodded as I studied my scrawls. Christobal scoffed. “You lied before the Prince of Barcelona.” His gaze shifted to the door and then he was on top of me. He yanked my head to the side and I felt two sharp needles pierce my skin. I cringed from the sound of my scream as it pounded against the stone walls. The scream ended in an abrupt gurgle when he forced his blood down my throat. ††† When it ended, Christobal again looked to the large oak door. I felt purged as my stomach twisted in hunger. I forced my eyes closed. Christobal’s voice echoed in my mind. “When I killed your father I promised him you would be purified.” I forced my hands to my ears to shield off his infuriating words, but I still heard his voice. “Only the sun can cleanse you now.” I opened my eyes and saw him laugh. Anger tightened my jaw. “Good girl,” he cooed. “Feel the true rage of Brujah while you can, for you will never feel it again.” “You can’t do this.” I stammered. The hunger was killing me. “Prince Mireia will kill you too, and if she doesn’t Issachar will.” Christobal tousled my hair as he looked to the door. I followed his gaze and expected someone to walk in. “Do you really think Mireia wants another one of Sheri’s brood frolicking around Iberia?” His hand went down to yank at my tunic. I screamed and watched him smile. “So impure. A liar, a harlot and an abandoned vampire hiding from her masters. The court will be pleased that I exposed such a criminal.” I shrieked as he tore off my dress. His eyes caged mine as he gashed his neck. “Drink.” I drank. He screamed. I moaned. I kept drinking as he pulled my legs around his waist. The room passed me in circles as we turned.

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“Amaranth!” His voice stirred my thirst. “Amaranth!” he shouted again. I heard the door open as I moaned. Mireia was framed in the doorway, and her guards approached us. I felt pain for a moment, but nothing after that. ††† “It’s your turn.” Christobal’s voice woke me. “Pay attention and wake up!” I opened my eyes and saw Mireia that stood at the podium. “Let the defendant plead her case,” she said as she smiled to me. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, but this time it did matter. “What case?” I looked around. The room was small, shadowy and sparsely populated. The few who watched did so with judgment. They were hard to see. “What am I being tried for?” “You should pay attention,” Christobal said. I tried to recall what was going on, but hunger threatened my rationality. “I’m innocent.” “But I found you attempting Amaranth against Christobal,” the prince replied. “What do you mean?” People laughed. “Your blatant act of incompetence,” Mireia continued, “is enough offense to hold you prisoner.” I tried to question her but she cut me short. “Who Embraced you?” “Christobal,” I answered, guessing at what she meant. People laughed again. Mireia silenced the voices. “We’ve heard four witnesses testify. A woman Embraced you two weeks ago and you’ve avoided us to keep this fact hidden. I saw it myself.” She paused. “Do you have anyone here to speak in your defense?” I looked for help among the unfamiliar faces. They wore masks of mockery and smiles. “Tobias will speak for me,” I finally replied. “Tobias was exiled,” Mireia answered before turning to her audience. “Will anyone else speak for this Caitiff?” Silence slid from the room and bloated my chest with terror. “Well then,” Mireia finally said. “I hereby charge Floretta of Lisbon guilty of attempted Amaranth, dishonesty and incompetence. She is a traitor to the Court of Barcelona and to the Holy Church. I sentence her to purification by sunlight.” Before I could question, Christobal grabbed my shoulders and looked into my eyes. He spoke. He told me to sleep, and somehow, I did. ††† I woke curled up on the stone floor of a tower. The knotting hunger in my stomach drove me to search for life. This tower was a tomb that ended existence, and only the moonlight hung on its walls. The room inhibited motion and even the rats avoided its nihilistic weight.

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Time must have stopped and I waited in agony for motion to continue. I sometimes cried for Tobias, and at other times I hoped a god would answer my prayers. No one answered, and at some point even the moon abandoned me. Soon it would be dawn. I looked to the sky. Time indeed continued. The sun would replace the moon, and I would die in its rays. I was already dead and I wondered how I could die a second time. A second death meant nonexistence. I would stop thinking and even time would abandon me. This was why I feared the silence. I closed my eyes and chose this fate for myself. In the end, it didn’t matter. ††† “I can’t speak to you after tonight.” I opened my eyes. There was no immediate light. A roof protected me from the sky and Issachar blocked the torchlight from my face. “Did you save me from the sun?” I asked. “Does it matter?” It didn’t. I sat up and surveyed the room. It was my room in Lisbon, but it was far smaller than I remembered. It brought back memories of my early childhood, but the waves no longer bothered me. Issachar spoke. “Katarin will stay with you.” I thought of Katarin and smiled remembering her fabricated joy. “Am I Brujah now?” I asked. “That should make me family, right?” Issachar said nothing and I somehow felt that he didn’t think so. I suddenly wanted to die again. “Well, you’re already dead,” he replied. “But would you really commit yourself to nonexistence just because you’re not of my blood?”

I was angry. “So, you’re going to leave me. And then what?” My shoulders sank and I felt as if someone were covering my torso with sand. “Do you always leave? Or was I dreaming when you brought the silence to Venice?” “I don’t bring silence.” “That creek stopped,” I snapped. “Creeks don’t just stop.” “So they were dreams,” I concluded. “Does it matter?” It didn’t. ††† The next night, Issachar refused to speak to me. Katarin and I escorted him to his boat. We didn’t say a word but I watched Katarin’s face as blood spilled from her eyes. He embraced her for a moment. She begged him to stay but her pleas didn’t persuade him. He gave her his sword and kissed her cheek. He stroked her hair and held her until she stopped crying. He promised to return to her, and then he left. I felt disowned, but I wasn’t jealous of Katarin. I knew that this time, her emotions were real. I took her hand and led her back to my manor. ††† As time passed, I taught Katarin how to heal from those emotions. She in exchange helped me understand what I was becoming. She taught me how to catch rats, seduce prey and smile when I felt nothing. For ten years, we shared everything from our possessions to our blood. We spoke of our pasts, our studies and our ambitions. Yet we never mentioned Barcelona, and I never slept without the melody of the ocean.

• PRELUDE •

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Introduction His brood shall bend their knees to me in fear And come when I do call them, and obey, Dead or living, willing or no. — The Erciyes Fragments. I (Genesis) The Cainites of the High Clans have ruled the Dark Medieval nights since before the fall of Rome. Ventrue princes claim domain over the vast majority of the cities of Europe, with Lasombra and Toreador both running close seconds... Although they claim cities much more rarely, the Cappadocians and Brujah occupy respected positions as scholars, philosophers and spiritual leaders. No one can dispute that in their own lands, the Tzimisce are the only true power. An unbroken lineage of blood and power extends back from the youngest neonate of any of the High Clans straight to one of the clan founders, and from there to Caine himself. Most first cursed vampires can recite that lineage, and even those who can’t have a good, solid grasp of the history of the Damned. They know Caine’s words to the three angels who offered him redemption. They know the sad story of the fall of the Salubri, and the shock of the “truth” about the Unicorns’ soul-stealing ways. The know why the Low Clans are called “fallen” — because they, unlike the High Clans, were unable to shoulder the burdens of rulership. They crumbled under the heavy demands of the curse of vampirism, and each of the Low Clans labors to this night under its punishment — hideousness, madness, sin, bestiality. The High Clans know that their own “weaknesses” are simply part of the role that God expects them to play (at worst) or marks of refinement and taste. The first cursed Cainites know, as do mortal rulers, that they are destined for their seats of power because God Himself wills it so. Any question of that is therefore blasphemy. These Cainites know that the turmoil caused by the War of Princes, the Tremere’s usurpation of the Salubri and even the horrific chaos of the Crusades is ultimately going to pass, and they shall sit on their thrones and sip the blood of their herds once more. The Cainites of the High Clans know all this because their sires told them. Their sires, whom they must eventually destroy if they wish to have any chance of taking power for themselves. But they must take this power, for God Himself ordained that the High Clans must rule.

• INTRODUCTION • • • INTRODUCTION

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Written by the Victors Older Cainites remember Rome and before, and know that the divide between “High” and “Low” Clans is artificial and comparatively recent. Cainite elders of the Low Clans bring this up occasionally, but even the Brujah who remember fighting infernalists alongside the Assamites or the Ventrue who once took council from Malkavian seers feign ignorance and indignation at the suggestion that the first cursed were ever anything but. Centuries of the six (seven, until the diablerie of Saulot) High Clans working together to cement their rule, agreeing on their stations if nothing else, have made difference between High and Low very real in practice, even if the theory behind it is profoundly flawed. Even if the Tzimisce might consider the Ventrue contemptible imperialistic dogs, the Fiends recognize the Warlords as fellow nobility. The Nosferatu might be more loyal, more useful and more honest … but they are still lower, still weaker and lower than the Ventrue. This system, wherein the High Clans give consideration to each other before any of the fallen, drew anger from some of the low-blooded and resignation from others, but it could only last for so long before something gave.

The Peasants Revolt Saulot’s destruction by Tremere was probably the beginning of it. To be sure, a Low Clan Cainite or two might have claimed a domain before that terrible night, but that typically only happened in Outremer, where the “rules” were different anyway, and Iberia, where the humans had allowed Moors to conquer. But when the Usurpers stood up to claim their place as a true clan, fallen all over Europe grew more brazen (or so it certainly seemed to the High Clans). Furores attacked High Clan Cainites and took their domains, their blood and their souls. Still the divide remained in place, perhaps because the most important cities in Europe — Constantinople, Paris, London — remained firmly in first cursed hands. Then came the Bitter Crusade. That, in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade, Constantinople remained the domain of a High Clan vampire (though now a Lasombra rather than a Toreador) did not change the fact that Michael the Patriarch, arguably the most powerful active vampire in the known world, was laid low. If Michael could die, then no one — not Mithras of London, Hardestadt the Elder or any other prince — was safe. True, Saulot had met his Final Death years before, but that happened in a remote haven, far away from kine population centers, and as such word took years to spread throughout the Cainite community (and by the time it did spread, word about the Salubri’s penchant for stealing souls traveled with it). Michael’s death came amid the fires of the Fall of Constantinople, and if the Low Clans were brazen before, they now became downright incorrigible. The War of Princes began as the Cainite monarchs of Europe battled to keep what’s theirs (and perhaps take a bit more), but the war is by no means a High Clan-only affair. When the dust settles, everything might be different. Even if the first cursed know, through years of tradition and experience, that the status quo of nights past will return, they feel in their undead hearts that nothing will ever be the same again.

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Theme and Mood The Players Guide to High Clans, as the name suggests, is designed to give players of High Clan Cainites more options and information. While the themes and moods described in Dark Ages: Vampire are applicable for all vampire characters (obviously), a few stand out where the High Clans are concerned.

Theme • Damnation: The High Clans, being on the whole better educated than their fallen brethren, wonder more often about the disposition of their immortal souls. Are they truly chosen by God to be rulers of the night? Are the not just as Damned as the Low Clans? And doesn’t God prize humility? If it is easier for a camel to pass through a needle’s eye than a rich man to get into Heaven, what chance does that leave the first cursed? Regardless of what road a vampire might follow, the prospect of degeneration is still present and still terrifying. The High Clans, so often concerned not only with their own unlives but the existences of others, also have more responsibility weighing on their souls … and more targets for their Beasts. • Ambition: The High Clans are, in many ways, defined by their ambitions. These ambitions have subtle layers — a Ventrue might seem merely power-mad, but that desire for power stems from a sincere belief that he is the best person to rule. A Cappadocian seeks knowledge, but that knowledge is ultimately to be used for performing rituals to raise the dead. An ambition-themed story has the potential to be quite rich if you and your Storyteller consider not only what a vampire wants but also why.

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LANDS BEYOND

stute readers may note that the High Clan/ Low Clan distinction is entirely artificial, as evidenced by the fact that it falls apart entirely in Outremer, and even in Iberia. This is true — the High Clans spent centuries cementing their own positions as the holders of power and simultaneously keeping the Low Clans down, but the distinction exists only because so many Cainites acknowledge it. In parts of the world where the clans in power are different, the High/Low distinction does not apply (or at least, the clans marked as “high” and “low” vary). This book (and the previously released Players Guide to Low Clans) focuses on Europe, rather than Outremer, and thus assumes that the social structure presented in Dark Ages: Vampire is, if not valid, then at least prevalent. Storytellers running chronicles set in Outremer, Iberia or other places where the social structure is different should keep in mind that vampires of the “Low Clans” in such places are not likely to labor under the same difficulties presented in this book. Likewise, first cursed Cainites in such places may find themselves bereft of their “High Clan” status. Please refer to Veil of Night and Iberia by Night for more information.

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

• Divine Right: Hand in hand with damnation is the theme of divine right. Some Cainites are completely convinced of their own superiority and righteousness, having bought into all of the rhetoric their sires have given them. For some Cainites (including many Tzimisce), the right to do as one wills stems not from God but from the vampire herself, which puts another layer onto this theme: Is God even necessary for the first cursed to claim power? A secondary theme here is arrogance — the High Clans’ smug selfassurance that their beliefs and practices are the “correct” ones make them more enemies than they know, but they aren’t behaving that way to annoy other Cainites, they’re doing it because they know they’re right. The rude awakening a coterie of first cursed Cainites receives when it arrives in, say, Granada is worthy of a story in itself. • War: Pragmatically speaking, the only way to gain power as a Cainite is to destroy one’s superiors. Uriel’s Curse says as much. Neonates don’t always realize it right away, but a few decades as a vampire teaches that lesson. The rules of Cainite society and the tenets of the Via Regalis(probably the most common road for High Clan Cainites, all told) make taking such drastic steps difficult, however. When the War of Princes erupted, many seconds-incommand inwardly rejoiced. The war is a dangerous time, between the Low Clans rebelling and other forces destroying careless vampires, but it is also a time of immense opportunity and desperation. After all, if one can’t seize power now, then when?

Mood • Terror: Low Clans games lean more toward dirty, bloody, visceral horror. That sort of thing certainly has a place among the High Clans (and that place is “the Tzimisce”), but on the whole, the first cursed lend themselves to more cerebral, mental and spiritual terror. The High Clans can reorder a person’s mind and heart as well as his body — how would he even know if he were doing their work (a question that vassals of powerful first cursed Cainites ask on a regular basis)? As for more tangible example of this element of terror, consider the shadow-crafting Lasombra or the Cappadocians and their zombie servants. Blood isn’t necessary; the High Clans bring other forms of Hell with them. Ask yourself: What about your character is frightening? Her cold, fanged smile? The way the shadows always lengthen around her? The way her retinue flinches whenever she makes a sudden movement? • Paranoia: Mentioned in Dark Ages: Vampire, this mood is extremely appropriate for the High Clans. The Low Clans can safely assume that everyone is out to get them, but the first cursed are surrounded by servants and vassals who have taken oaths to protect them. Those oaths, which should be comforting, only lead the Cainites to question those who would swear fealty. Why would they swear themselves away? Are they merely waiting for the best time for betrayal?

Chapter by Chapter The Prelude shows High Clan society from the underside, as a young woman is slowly Embraced into a world she is not permitted to understand. Introduction: The section you’re reading now. Themes, moods, and sources of inspiration can be found here. Chapter One: Once and Future Kings presents the histories of each of the High Clans, along with a player’s toolkit providing character creation and plot hook inspira-

tions. You’ll also find information on the domains of the first cursed, some tactics they use to make their way in the Dark Medieval, and the ways in which they twist and pervert human customs. Chapter Two: Playing the High Clans offers an indepth look at creating, conceptualizing and developing High Clan characters. Chapter Three: Noble by Association provides information on some minor bloodlines associated with the High Clans — the Giovanni branch of Clan Cappadocian, the remnants of Clan Salubri, the Graverobbers’ Lamia bodyguards and a strange lineage claiming to be the True Brujah. Chapter Four: Birthrights and Bitter Secrets gives players and Storytellers a multitude of new Discipline techniques, as well as new Mortis rituals, details on Koldunic Sorcery and advanced Disciplines suitable for elder characters. Chapter Five: Those Who Rule the Night introduces notable characters from the ranks of the High Clans, presents five template characters suitable for use as Storyteller or playercontrolled characters, and details several High Clan sects.

Sources Numerous sources of inspiration about the burdens and pleasures of rulership exist. Don’t feel restricted to only period-appropriate materials — these themes are universal. In particular, consider the following.

Books Hamlet, by William Shakespeare. The nobility is mad, corrupt and in conflict with itself. A rival army is on the way. The only ones capable of telling the plain truth are gravediggers and clowns. What more do you need? The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer. “The Knight’s Tale” and “The Nun’s Tale” especially are rather stilted classical fables, but some nastiness is tucked away there if you look for it. The Prince, by Nicolo Machiavelli. For obvious reasons. A Lion in Winter, by James Goldman. Intrigue, plotting, backstabbing, nobility…it’s all here. The film version is good, too.

Films Braveheart. The nobility might be chosen by God, but they can sure become ruthless quickly when the need arises. Picture Edward Longshanks as a Ventrue. Gosford Park. Not period, but a great look at arcane rules of etiquette and the way that those in power completely ignore those beneath them, both of which are appropriate for High Clan games. Joan of Arc. The mini-series, starring Leelee Sobieski. Again, a bit out of period, but beautifully done, and the details of the French court, the politics of the time, tactics of war and diplomacy, the reaction to a girl in armor, and strong religious beliefs are all handled well. The knight who accompanies her is a perfect Path of Chivalry follower. Elizabeth. It’s out of period and not terribly accurate historically, but the political backstabbing is absolutely wonderful for the mood of a Cainite court, and Geoffrey Rush’s portrayal of Walsingham is the epitome of the Lasombra Elder behind the Throne.

• INTRODUCTION •

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Chapter One: Once and Future Kings “Good fortune will elevate even petty minds, and give them the appearance of a certain greatness and stateliness, as from their high place they look down upon the world; but the truly noble and resolved spirit raises itself, and becomes conspicuous in times of disaster and ill fortune.” — Plutarch

The High Clans claim domain over much of the world. Theirs is not a rule supported only by supernatural might or the beneficence of their sires, but by an unbroken history stretching back to the Third Mortal himself. The High Clans take great pride in relating that history to their childer, to ensure that their lineages remain strong and proud. The Low Clans find many of the claims that the first cursed make in their histories to be spurious or even offensive … but of course the peasants would feel that way. It’s natural to be somewhat bitter, after all.

• CHAPTER • CHAPTER ONE • ONE • ONCE AND FUTURE • ONCE•AND FUTURE KINGS •KINGS •

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Brujah What all Cainites feel — anger, fear, hunger, the yearning desire for Grace — we Brujah feel manifold. We are called Zealots for a reason. We cannot be otherwise. — Louis of Glastonbury, Brujah ashen priest of the Road of Heaven The History of the Brujah, as told by Yitzhak ben Avraham, Ashen Rabbi of the Road of Heaven Ah, erev tov, my friend. See? I told you last night that you would come back to hear more. I know people, my son, and no matter what others of our kind may tell you, we are still people. I believe, before we were so rudely interrupted by yesterday’s dawn, that you were telling me how big a fool I was, that I dream of the impossible. You think I do not know how it looks? That I believe it will be easy to unite Poland once more into a single nation, to make it a home for all people, Jews or anyone else, who lack a homeland of their own? I go into this with my eyes open, knowing that the task I have set myself is the work of a hundred lifetimes — but knowing, too, that this is the objective that God has set before me. Besides, I am Brujah; I come from a lengthy tradition of impossible dreams. Yes, I think we’ll do this. Tonight, I shall tell you not of my own history or goals, but of my bloodline — and, I am inclined to think, yours as well, although I doubt we shall ever know for certain. I shall tell you of the Brujah, and you will see that I come by my penchant for chasing dreams honestly.

In the Beginning if I may borrow an opening from a storyteller far more skilled than I, was Brujah himself. Accounts of this ancient are as fraught with uncertainty as any legend. Was he a philosopher, a warrior, a scholar, a poet, a raving madman to rival Malkav? Was he, as some claim, the instigator of the third generation’s patricide against Caine’s own children, or was he a reluctant participant who knew full well the consequences of his actions? Tales describe him as any or all of these, and I do not flatter myself to think I have a greater insight than anyone else on the matter. Suffice it to say that he was what he was, until one of his own childer laid him low in the time of the Second City. The childe’s name was

Troile and about this one we know as little as we do of Brujah. Accounts differ even as to Troile’s sex, but I shall

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refer to him as male purely for ease of conversation. The legends seem to agree that, at least for a time, Troile loved his sire, yet the Amaranth is hardly a sign of love, wouldn’t you agree? Did some great argument cause a falling-out between them, or did Troile somehow believe he was doing right by his second father in consuming his essence and his power? Some scholars even theorize that Brujah was Troile, for few trustworthy accounts ever place them together in the sight of others. I myself doubt this notion, as Troile was clearly of a different temperament than his sire, and while the original childer of Brujah were said to be dispassionate, the descendants of Troile possessed the legendary temper with which my brethren and I suffer to this night. And it is here that we find the earliest of the many contradictions that plague our clan. If we are the descendants of Troile, rather than Brujah, why do we retain Brujah’s name? Others who have taken the places of ancients do not retain the epithets of those who came before. If you wish to test this, feel free to approach the next Usurper you see and call him Salubri. If he’s kind enough simply to kill you outright, I will sit shiva for you. I believe that Troile loved his sire still, even after diablerizing him. I believe that he slew Brujah not out of hatred, but either because he was temporarily overcome with rage over some small slight, or because he felt — for whatever reason — duty-bound to do so. Whether he was doing Brujah himself a service, or acting for the good of his clanmates in destroying a crazed progenitor, or for some other reason, I know not. But I believe it was Troile himself who insisted that he and his descendents maintain the Brujah name, in honor of what his sire once had been. But this is, after all, only my opinion, worth little more than the empty breath with which I speak it. Despite the Amaranth of our founder, many consider our time in

The Second City to be the highest and greatest era in our clan’s history. Here, Cainite and kine dwelt in harmony, at least for a time. We ruled over them as gods and kings, and they gave themselves to our hunger happily. There was blood shed, certainly, but little bloodshed, if you understand me. We walked openly among the kine, and they welcomed us. And in truth we welcomed their presence as well, not merely for sustenance, but for the creative spark and the breath of life that we ourselves lacked. We ruled civilization, but it was they, not we, who birthed it and moved it forward.

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

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HISTORY OR TRUTH?

ven Yitzhak is not entirely unbiased when it comes to his view of the Second City. Though he has his doubts, he has more or less accepted the notion that, while it may not have been the paradise so many Brujah proclaim it to have been, it was certainly the closest Cainite and kine have come to living in harmony with one another. Not everyone agrees with that viewpoint. Some see the Second City as a bloody autocracy in which the Cainites kept the mortals ruthlessly enslaved, barely more than food. Others see the Second City as a hotbed of infernalism, just as they believe Carthage itself would one day become. To hear them tell it, the Cainites of the Second City engaged in regular debauchery, torture and blood orgies, all for no better reason than they could. Perhaps the most moderate viewpoint — and one that is near to being lost completely in these nights of fanaticism and ironclad views — is that the Second City was nothing special at all. It simply happened to be the first true community after the First City that housed both undying and mortal inhabitants. All the various traits attributed to the Second City since then, they say, from the utopian view of the Brujah to the hotbed of sin espoused by others, are myth and political propaganda masquerading as historical fact. Considering that even those few Ancients who might conceivably remember the Second City can’t seem to agree on the details, it’s unlikely that anyone will ever learn the whole truth.

Alas, the Second City proved less immortal than those who ruled it. It is the memory of that city that drives many of my brethren even to this night, and as much as any single clan — let alone one so fractious as the Brujah — can be said to possess a goal, ours has been the recreation of the near-paradise that was the Second City. After many years of precious little movement in that regard, the first attempt at doing so was

Hellenistic Greece Some of my brethren are so enamored of the memories of this time, my child, that they would have

words with me even for calling it thus. “Always Hellas, never Greece!” they would say. Yet Greece is how it is known tonight, and I would rather make my point understood than cling to antiquated terms. To hear these same “scholars” speak of it, Greece — and specifically Athens — was very nearly perfection for our clan. We ruled the night, they say, and the other clans set foot on Grecian soil only with our generous dispensation. We dwelt among the kine, observing them as they created an artistic, philosophic and politically perfect society, years and even centuries ahead of anything that came before or has come since. We watched, and learned, and reveled, but never interfered, making Athens and all of Greece our experiment in social construction, granting the mortals such concepts as democracy to play with, yet never influencing what they did with it. Oi! Such arrogance! I tell you truthfully, when one embarks upon an impossible quest, as I have done, one must do so with open eyes, observing everything, lest the dream obscure the reality with which you must work. I have examined our history with open eyes, child, spoken to many who were present, and I tell you that what I have just told you is a popular fairy tale among my clan, but that, alas, is all it is. Greece was a good place and a good time for the Brujah, I’ll not deny that. We held the greatest influence there, as compared to the other clans, and more Greek princes claimed the Brujah name than any other. Many of our greatest philosophers learned much from, and perhaps even gave much to, the Greeks. But anyone who believes that we in no way interfered with our “great experiment” knows nothing of Cainite nature. No clan acts as a single entity, and certainly not the Zealots. Many Brujah had little interest in social development but instead shared the same goals as most of our kind — to acquire vitae to drink and power to play with. Even those who were interested in studying the social development of the kine, perhaps in the hopes of recreating the Second City, rarely took a hands-off approach. They meddled, they influenced, they prodded the kine this way and that, all in an attempt to “prove” whatever their pet theory of societal development might have been. While I believe that the vast majority of cultural and philosophical advancement in Hellenistic Greece came from the mortals — as it almost always does — the irony is that the Brujah may have been responsible for more of it than we take credit for, simply because we are so determined to convince ourselves that we did not “interfere” at all.

• CHAPTER ONE • • ONCE AND FUTURE KINGS •

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Would you like proof, child, that the Brujah did not “control” Greece so thoroughly as we like to tell ourselves? The Brujah of Greece were, at least nominally, allied with the Brujah of Carthage. Yet Greece and Carthage were vicious rivals, enemies nearly as hostile as Carthage and Rome in later years. Surely, had we as much influence in Greece as we like to pretend, we could have prevented our mortal underlings from squabbling with one another, could we not? But more on Carthage in a moment. I find it interesting that so many of my clanmates rage against the Ventrue for the fall of Carthage, yet the memory of Greece — which also found itself annexed into the empire that was Rome — elicits barely a murmur of dissatisfaction. The truth is, many of the elders of our clan had long since abandoned Athens, and indeed all of Greece, before the coming of the legions and the Ventrue and Malkavians lurking in their midst. Those same Brujah who swear by the “Greek experiment” maintain that the elders departed because they’d learned all they could from the kine of Greece. Codswallop! The elders abandoned the region because they knew it was but a matter of time before all who remained would be Roman citizens, and they would rather find new havens — possibly in Carthage — and begin anew than bend knee to the Ventrue. Many outsiders find the Brujah to be a contradiction — warriors and philosophers, focused and patient yet violently short of temper. Nowhere in our history has this contradiction been more blatant than during our years in

Carthage To hear most Brujah tell it, Carthage was the next best thing to Heaven, a near-perfect recreation of the Second City. Brujah walked side by side with mortals, and with several other clans as well — most notably the Assamites. We reigned above the leaders of the kine, we protected them in exchange for regular offerings of vitae, and only rarely did a mortal life actually end beneath our fangs. It was the single greatest success we’ve ever had in our attempts to rebuild the Second City, and undeniable proof that not only Cainites and kine, but Cainites of different bloodlines, can dwell together in relative peace, overcoming the hostilities and distrust that so often seem inextricably tied to our undead heritage. This, they claim, is the paradise denied us by the Roman Ventrue, who grew jealous of our power and our rapport with the kine, and set out to destroy all we had built. It was they, along with their Malkavian and

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

Toreador allies, who turned Rome against Carthage, they who corrupted some of our greatest minds to debauchery and even infernalism. Worse, it was they who were ultimately responsible for the death of Troile who — according, at least, to some legends — remains trapped beneath the salted earth of the battlefields around Carthage. Outsiders such as the Ventrue have a different version, of course. By their account, Carthage was a pit of corruption, demon-worship and debauchery of the worst sort. Brujah and Assamite walked hand in hand with the dreaded Baali, and held blood orgies and sacrificial revels in which dozens of mortals were slaughtered in the name of fiends from the deepest Pit. Carthage, they claim, was a blight upon the land so foul that even most of the damned could not abide its presence, and when the legions and the Ventrue destroyed it, they did the entire world a service. As with everything else, I believe the truth lies somewhere in the middle. I’ve no doubt the Baali were present in Carthage, nor that several of my clanmates were involved in practices that were, to say the least, distasteful. In the latter days of the Third Punic War, the government of Carthage threw vast orgies for its soldiers to distract them from the fact that it could not afford to pay them. Much of the missing money had gone to corrupt mortal politicians, of course, but much more was taken by Brujah and other Cainite overlords, determined to enrich themselves at the expense of those on whom they fed. It is true too, however, that many Brujah — and, to a lesser extent, Assamites — did indeed dwell in Carthage and maintain at least relatively good relations with the kine. I rather doubt that the mortals were falling over themselves in eagerness to feed their Cainite neighbors, as some would have it, but they knew of and even accepted the presence of “vampires” in their midst, in exchange for the protection we offered and, for the fortunate ones, the near-immortality we might grant. As to which faction was in the majority, the cultural architects or the debauched infernalists, I will not speculate, except to say that I imagine it was the former initially, but the latter by the end. Incidentally, you will also hear some of us lay the blame for Troile’s death at the feet of the Baali; some claim they corrupted even our great ancestor himself. This may be so. If it is, I find it unlikely that they were working in concert with the Ventrue, as some maintain. I am no supporter of the Warlords, but I find it unlikely that they would ally, en masse, with such as the infernalists.

While we’re on the subject, I believe both factions’ antipathy toward the Ventrue to be misplaced. Yes, the Patricians swooped in like vultures to feast upon the cadaver left by Carthage’s fall, and they took full advantage of the war between Carthage and Rome, but to claim that they were responsible for the fall of Carthage is to grant them far more credit than they deserve. The Punic Wars were, like most conflicts, of mortal instigation, and the fate of Carthage ultimately rests not on the shoulders of any Cainite but on those of the kine. As accurate to say that we ourselves are “responsible” for Carthage’s fall, by dint of those who raided the governmental coffers, as to lay the blame at the feet of the Ventrue. Don’t go about proclaiming that to other Brujah, however. We enjoy our little conceits, and our temper, as I mentioned, can be lethal. Carthage was the last time the Brujah had any particular center of influence. We scattered after that, winding up in all manner of places across Europe, the British Isles and beyond. Travel to Outremer, you will find Brujah dwelling among the Saracens in the Holy Land; to the Papal States, you will find us ensconced in the Church hierarchy, though in far fewer numbers than the Lasombra or Cappadocians; to Norway, you will find us side by side with the Gangrel among the pagans of the North. And, though many Cainites do not know of our presence, you will find us here, in

Eastern Europe These lands have, of course, long been the traditional demesne of the Tzimisce, and when Cainites think of Hungary, the Carpathians and the like they imagine the Fiends, the Ventrue and the Tremere, engaged in their constant struggles for dominance. In terms of who holds the power here, they would be correct. By population, however, we Brujah have nearly the numbers of any of these other clans. The unfortunate truth is, we have little influence in many of the lands to which we spread after the fall of Carthage. The native Cainites maintained their power and authority with an iron grip, and we were able to peel away but a meager portion of it. From philosophers and cultural leaders, we have, in many lands, fallen to a mere subsistence level, or at best serve as advisors to those less well equipped to rule than we. There, you see? Even I sound bitter when I speak of it, and I care little for such matters. Such is the power of our clan’s rage and frustration. At any rate, here in Eastern Europe, some of the Brujah refused to reconcile themselves to powerless-

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ness. Led by a number of Brujah who were still filled with rage for the fall of Carthage — you have, perhaps, heard of Dominic? — they utterly refused to yield to the Ventrue who already held power in the region, let alone to Jürgen the Swordbearer and his invaders. Allying with the Tzimisce was not much of an option either, for the Fiends had little interest in sharing their demesnes and would have insisted the Brujah take a position so subservient as to make them little more than slaves. An alliance with the Usurper Tremere might have been possible, until they, too, allied with the Ventrue against their common enemy. The wise thing to do would probably have been to lie low and let things run their course, but my brethren are not so well known for that sort of wisdom. Dominic and his supporters lashed out against all fronts, striking from concealment, attacking with surprise, never remaining in one location long enough for an organized counter assault. Ventrue, Tremere and Tzimisce forces fell to these Brujah warriors. The Brujah were not so numerous nor well organized that they could cause major damage to any one faction, but in a war such as the one that rages through these lands even tonight, even a minor loss can tip the balance if it occurs in the right — or perhaps wrong — place and time. Interestingly enough, these “rebels,” for lack of a better term, are no longer limited to just Brujah. Neonates and even some young ancillae of other clans have joined them as well, seeing in their actions a crusade to carve a niche for all those who have remained powerless and disenfranchised in the face of Ventrue and Tzimisce dominance of the region. The

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YEARS YET UNSEEN

itzhak speaks a greater truth here than he realizes. The conflict — which is swiftly expanding beyond a mere Brujah grudge into a true, if nascent, war between generations — only grows as the years pass. For now, it remains overshadowed by the many other conflicts that grip the region, an unimportant little skirmish in the War of Princes. In years to come, however, the neonates among the Tzimisce join with the Brujah, and this “little” movement sparks the single greatest struggle in Cainite history. These are the seeds of the Anarch Revolt, watered in the blood of the slain and nourished on the neglect and indifference of elders who might have stopped it if they’d only paid attention.

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movement, if it can be dignified with such a title, has slowed in the last several decades, ever since the disappearance of Dominic himself, but it is hardly gone. It fades for years at a time, lost against the far larger and more violent backdrop of the Tremere/ Tzimisce conflict and — until recently — the war against the invading Ventrue, but it never vanishes completely. Knowing the tenacity of my brethren, perhaps it never will. Of course, the Slavic nations do not account for the entirety of Eastern Europe. Many of my clan hold much influence in Byzantium — or, excuse me, what was Byzantium. Mortal politics, who can follow? As might be expected, the Brujah princes and nobles of the region are no more immune to chasing dreams than the rest of us. Hektor, Prince of New Lacadaemonia, has attempted to turn his isle into a new Carthage, where Cainites rule openly over mortals — with, I can assure you, some mixed and often ugly results. Natalya Syvatoslav of Thessalonica seeks to take Constantinople and turn it into a recreation of Carthage. (I trust you are seeing the pattern here?) Others exist as well, such as Herleva of Durazzo and … oi, you’ll have me going on all night. My point is that we still hold much power in many parts of Europe — and we stand on the brink of losing it all. Our clan is too disparate, too busy pursuing individual and in many cases impossible dreams, to prepare ourselves properly for what is to come. I am guilty of this myself — I know this, I see this — yet I would not turn aside now for any price. And that, child, perhaps more than anything else, encapsulates the history of the Brujah. The urge to reach for the impossible is in our blood, as much a part of us as Troile’s rage. And if my own quest to reunite Poland is just another incarnation of our everburning desire to see the Second City restored, I accept that, for whether the notion comes from my ancestry, my own mind or the voice of God, it remains a noble purpose. I hope to make you see that as clearly as I do. Perhaps we should go and find something to eat while we discuss it. I’m famished.

Points of Contention Despite the scattered and unfocused nature of the Brujah — as a clan, not as individuals — certain ongoing events and elements of the Dark Medieval world affect them all.

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HISTORY FOR BRUJAH CHARACTERS

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n nights past, it was as uncommon to see a Brujah with no knowledge or appreciation for her clan’s history as a Ventrue who couldn’t name his sire. Ignorant Zealots are growing more and more common, however. Those Embraced by Brujah who remember Carthage, or even Constantinople, are much more likely to educate their childer, but other Brujah who hail from cultures not quite so refined don’t always see the point. Why pass on the anger of Carthage to a generation of Cainites who never saw it, they ask? The Brujah blood allows for anger to simmer for centuries, even anger for slights that the Cainite in question can only appreciate second-hand. Why inflict more rage upon the young? Elder Brujah have been known to fly into frenzy when faced with that question. History must be taught, the rage must be carried, because the instant that Clan Brujah stops caring about what it has lost, the clan loses any chance of ever reclaiming it. Of course, some cynics state that this has already happened. Brujah tend to learn from their historical studies that the history of humanity and the get of Caine are inextricably intertwined. Whether this is presented as a symbiosis wherein the Cainites help guide humanity or a parasitical relationship wherein the vampires pervert and steal all they can from the kine depends entirely on the temperament of the instructor.

Byzantine Plotting As hinted at by Yitzhak above, the Brujah may hold substantial power in the Byzantine Successor states, but it’s less certain that they can hold it. One is a dictator of an island community that history itself suggests cannot possibly last. One seeks to take possession of a city that is perhaps the single greatest prize in the region, one inextricably linked with centuries of Cainite history. Herleva of Durazzo is too wrapped up in Greek/Latin conflict to concern herself with much of anything else. Other, less notorious Brujah seem equally embroiled in their various petty conflicts as well. It’s all very normal, very much in character. And it may all be deliberate. Several younger Brujah, particularly those seeking to expand their own growing power bases in the region, have run up against substantial opposition.

While this often comes from other Cainites already entrenched and unwilling to share power, some other Zealots have suffered attacks from unexpected quarters. Brujah uninvolved in Herleva’s conflict, for instance, have been attacked by Greek Cainites with no obvious reason to assume the new arrival should be hostile. In the last few months, some Brujah have been attacked merely for setting foot in Constantinople, whereas others remain undisturbed. Small groups of mortals, who have never before undertaken anything of this sort, have begun showing signs of rebellion on Hektor’s island. Coincidence? Possibly. But more and more young Brujah are beginning to think that these scattered events represent a concerted effort against their clan as a whole. They can’t yet imagine why — all other major powers of Eastern Europe have far greater enemies than the Zealots — nor have they any real theories as to who... Further, none of these younger Brujah have had any luck in convincing their elders that this may, in fact, be far more than scattered difficulties; and that in itself seems suspicious, given the normally paranoid nature of Cainites in general. Ambitious younger Brujah in the region are starting to fantasize about the reputations and power they might gain by uncovering the true power they believe to be orchestrating these events, but so far none has made any real headway. Other young Brujah have realized that the situation is rife with opportunity. Because their elders are all distracted by other concerns, they can more easily step in and carve out their own little slices of power. Of course, they’ll be subject to the same seemingly random attacks described above, but some feel that the opportunities are worth the risk.

How the Mighty Are Falling The Brujah are of the High Clans, the first cursed, the elite of Caine’s people. Why, then, do they seem to hold less and less power as time goes by? Why are Brujah princes suddenly worthy of note, rather than simply an assumed fact of Cainite society? Why do so many of their childer — far more than any outside the clan, or even many within, realize — break from the old ways and rebel against their elders? The truth, though few admit it, is that the Brujah are slipping. They have already begun a slow but steady decline that will eventually lead them from Zealots to Rabble, from respected leaders and philosophers to just more mouths among the masses. The elders do not see it, or do not acknowledge if it they do. This supposed “downfall” is the problem of others, not

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theirs. Obviously, other elders are proving incapable of maintaining their positions and their authority. It’s an individual, not a clan, problem. Younger Brujah are less jaded, less blind — and less scared to admit the truth, that a clan with no real focus and as many pet causes as it has members is simply too scattered to remain one of the night’s preeminent powers. Unfortunately, they are still unable to agree on how best to respond. Some turn against the power structure of their homeland, determined to place themselves — or some other “worthy” Brujah — on the throne, regardless of consequences or the cost to the region’s stability. A few take their rebellion a step further, seeking to tear down the entire power structure itself so that they may put something else (though nobody’s yet decided what) in its place. The Furores are perhaps the most well known of these insurgents. Made up entirely of younger Cainites, the Furores seek the end of elder rule and equality among the damned regardless of age. Even they, however, cannot agree on the details of a replacement system to the one they intend to take down. Other Brujah prefer to ingratiate themselves with those who are already in power, serving as advisors, assistants, generals and the like. They hope that by making themselves indispensable to lords and princes, they, and their brethren, will have allies who can bolster their wavering positions. Unfortunately, what none of these Brujah yet seem to realize is that by taking these actions, by building a self-identity based entirely on their relations with those around them, they are hastening their own decline. The Brujah were a clan of philosophers and leaders, perhaps the brightest the Cainite race had to offer. In these nights, however, they have begun to define themselves purely by what they stand with or against; precious few of the clan still devote any real thought or effort to what they stand for.

Player’s Toolbox The Brujah have a rich, conflict-filled history from which to draw. It would be a shame not to take at least some of it into account when building Brujah characters.

Crusaders for a Cause • Your character is a stout believer in the tales and myths of Carthage and believes fervently that such a Cainite “paradise” can be recreated. You bear the Ventrue an intense hatred for their part in the destruction of Carthage; whether you seek to destroy them

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and all they hold dear or whether you recognize the power they wield over many kine institutions as a vital tool for achieving your dream depends on your specific view. In any event, you’re probably driving your companions mad with your constant preaching of glories long gone — and glories to be found once more — but if even one pair of ears opens to your call, one pair of hands joins you in your labors, it’s worth it. • You are a hunter of the twice-damned. Though the Brujah bear less of a burning hatred for the Baali and other infernalists throughout Cainite society than do some other clans and sects, some Zealots remember still the part these foul creatures played in the fall of Carthage, and — if rumor is to be believed — in the disappearance of Troile himself... Whether you seek the recreation of the Second City or Carthage, or whether you have no illusions about the future of Cainite society, you still believe firmly that this unholy scum must be purged from the night before your race has any hope of advancing itself. • You, like our narrator, have inherited the Brujah drive for chasing dreams — but you pursue your own, not one chosen for you by the obsessions of your clanmates. Your dream could be almost anything, from Yitzhak’s unified Jewish and Christian state to a cure for vampirism itself. In fact, though you’d never admit it to anyone, the goal itself may actually be less valuable to you than the sense of importance and purpose you gain from pursuing it. Echoes of the Past • You see yourself as more akin to the Brujah scholars of old and believe you would have felt more at home in Hellenistic Greece than you do in 13thcentury Europe. You seek knowledge, not power; you would rather understand the philosophical ramifications of the Cainite condition than learn how best to put one over on your rival in the next domain over. More powerful Cainites may scoff at your efforts now, but you know that in 50 or 150 years, when you have truly begun to understand, that it is they who will be coming to you and begging your assistance. • You have turned against almost every faction of Cainite society and are part of a small but growing band of rebellious neonates and ancillae operating primarily in Eastern Europe. It’s possible that this is entirely an act of rebellion against the way you’ve been treated for most of your young unlife, but you’re probably also inspired — and enraged — by the various injustices, real and imagined, that your clan has suffered throughout the centuries. You aren’t entirely certain what you’re fighting for; you know only that most Cainites in

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

power, from the Ventrue to the Tzimisce, represent everything you’re fighting against. • Alternatively, having seen the lack of success that violent rebellion has brought in the past, you seek to become the rarest of Cainites: a visionary who would prefer to lead with words and deeds, not the threat of violence and power. You face an uphill struggle, and you know it. In a world where Cainites and kine both scramble over the corpses of their enemies on their quest to dominate all those around them, how can you hope to attain any position of respect without doing the same? Perhaps you turn to religion, seeking to become a priest, ashen or otherwise. Maybe you turn to those already in power, hoping to move up in their estimation and their ranks through faithful service and good advice. Whatever your choice, both your innate temper and the actions of those around you will constantly serve as temptations to devolve to their level and to take satisfaction in bloodshed.

Cappadocians Is Hell upon us because the dead walk? And because they walk under my command, am I then God? — Cesaré, Scion of the Cappadocians As told by Najya bint Maizah bint Hadeel, deceased Interesting. “Why are we as we are?” Not a simple question, Aurelio, not a simple question at all. But then, few who would drink of the knowledge of this Well seek simple answers. I have two answers for you, little vampire. It is the short one you seek, but I believe I shall grant you the longer. You may well find additional answers therein, answers for which you do not even know the questions. In either case, we rarely have the chance to speak to anyone but our keeper, Constancia, and I grow weary of her. I shall begin at the beginning of your clan, vampire, and the ancient you know as

Cappadocius How mysterious! How enigmatic! An ancient without a name, only a description. The names of most of the third generation are lost to history, but Cappadocius’ name is unknown even to his contemporaries. To hear Cappadocian scholars tell it, the priest who would become Cappadocius chose to abandon his original name and take this one even before his Embrace, and this is the only name he offered to Caine and the second generation.

Nonsense. Cappadocius goes by no true name because he himself no longer knows it! Why think you that none can determine which childe of Caine sired Cappadocius? It is because the Embrace went wrong, little vampire. In his days as a mortal priest and man of faith, Cappadocius had his own dealings with the dead, a conversation here and there with spirits of those gone, and he had made several enemies in his time. When your Antediluvian died briefly, as all your kind do during the Embrace, those spirits were waiting for him in the lands Beneath, and they attempted to cling to him, to prevent him from returning to his body when the curse of Caine took hold. To an extent, they succeeded. You know of ancient Egyptian myth, which claims the soul has multiple parts? I know not if their beliefs are accurate, but they clearly have some degree of truth, for part of Cappadocius never returned from the underworld. Much of his knowledge and self-awareness were lost in that faulty Embrace, and the being who returned was not quite he who began the journey. Cappadocius’ very soul is fragmented, and that is why he harbors such a fascination for the dead: Even if he himself does not realize it, he is constantly seeking the missing portions of himself. This flawed Embrace is also the reason for Cappadocius’ deathly appearance, you see. Because

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ASHUR

ome scholars believe that Cappadocius does have another name, the name Ashur. Others believe that Ashur is the name of Cappadocius’ sire, although no second-generation Cainite exists in any myths or records by that name. Did he exist at all? Is this, in fact, the name of Cappadocius? If so, is it his true name, or just another alias this most enigmatic of ancients picked up along the way? None can say for certain, of course, but it is worth noting that at no time has anyone heard Cappadocius himself make use of that name; it has always been ascribed to him in writing by others. It is also worth noting that some credit a vampire by the name of Ashur with the creation of the depraved Baali. If this is true, would that make the Cappadocians and the Baali cousins who share the same grandfather? Brothers who share the same patriarch? Or could their bonds run more closely still?

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the spirit that returned to his body was incomplete, it was unable to fully stave off the decay of the grave. You question, little vampire. You wonder why clan legend claims that the Cappadocians’ pallor is a curse of Caine’s, if it occurred naturally. It was a curse, child... Until your progenitor cursed him, Cappadocius alone bore the mark of death; the rest of his descendants did not. Think on that. To curse the ancient, Caine laid his hand upon the ancient’s childer alone. That, if nothing else, should say something about your progenitor, should it not? In any event, Cappadocius spent most of his time in

The Second City seeking answers to his various and sundry questions of the nature of life and death, studying ways to question the spirits, and — in his spare time — advising the other Cainites on any matters about which they chose to query him. According to all official Cappadocian doctrine, the ancient did not sire a single childe during all these years. Not a one. Doesn’t sound likely, does it? Even we, who are unbound by the limitations of the living, cannot see the truth of that matter. Any question we ask along those lines is met with a deafening silence in the voices of the underworld. Something prevents us from seeing, child, something that does not wish anyone to know whether Cappadocius really remained childeless during his years in the Second City. An awful lot of trouble to go through if he did nothing worth hiding, would you not agree? When the Great Deluge came and destroyed most of the known world, then did Cappadocius flee the Second City, and only then did he begin to Embrace. His first childe was Caias Koine, followed closely by Japheth, Lazarus and others. And for the next several thousand years, the great Cappadocius accomplished … Nothing. He wandered. He Embraced others to help him in his quest to understand death, even though the curse of Caine had now fallen, and his Embrace carried with it the very appearance of death. He questioned leaders and priests and philosophers and wizards. His progeny spread outward to all corners of the Earth — or to most, at any rate — and they constructed marvels. Two entire cities, carved into the Earth, called Derinkuyu and Kaymakli, owe their construction to Cappadocian architects and artisans. Yet Cappadocius himself was no closer to understanding death than he had been the night he rose as a Cainite.

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Then, less than a hundred years after the death of Christ, Cappadocius had

A Vision He had spent many years merged with the rock of a mountain in his homeland of Cappadocia, his heart grown despondent over his failed search. While thus entombed, Cappadocius experienced a vision of an angel, one who informed him that God Himself wished Cappadocius’ quest to succeed, and one who offered of its own blood to grant him strength. Cappadocius burst from the earth, sending stone flying in all directions and leaving behind him a gaping pit that seemed to have no bottom. He feasted upon a passing caravan, merchants and their families from Baghdad who had hoped to begshelter for the night within the monastery atop the mountain in which Cappadocius slept. Do I sound bitter, little vampire? I was but a young woman when your Antediluvian set upon us, slaughtering us like sheep in a land far from home. When he had slaked his thirst upon us, sparing not even our children, our empty bodies he hurled into the pit from which he had emerged …. I see understanding dawn in your eyes. Yes, child, the Well of Bones marks the spot on which Cappadocius slept, within spitting distance of the Erciyes Monastery he would shortly claim as his own. And the first of the bones in this pit were my own, mine and my fellow travelers. This was the experience that transformed Cappadocius into a devout Christian — without, it seems, the tenets of mercy supposedly espoused by that faith. It was not long after this vision, perhaps some time in the second century, while new purpose and despair still warred within him, that Cappadocius experienced what he later called his

First Revelation When wandering the lands of the Hebrews, not far from his homeland, Cappadocius set upon a lone Jew in a tent and would have slain him to slake his thirst. The Jew, however, in his supplications to God, sparked a sudden understanding in the ancient. He had wasted thousands of years seeking the answers to life and death by questioning mortals, when it was God, and God alone, who could provide the answers.

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IGNORANCE IS BLISS

o be fair, Cappadocius probably didn’t know, when he departed the slopes of Mount Erciyes after experiencing his vision and subsequently feasting upon the caravan, that his actions had created the spiritual pit that would come to be called the Well of Bones. When Caias and the other Cappadocians discovered it while searching for a place to put the bodies of the hundreds of monks they’d just slain, the ancient was likely just as surprised as the rest of them. In fact, given his state of both rapture and intense hunger when he first emerged from the earth after his vision, it’s entirely possible that he never even made the connection between his own actions of years past and the existence of the Well of Bones.

The Monastery atop Mount Erciyes suffered most and most immediately from Cappadocius’ “revelation.” The ancient led nearly his entire clan in a march on the monastery, where they would take it as their own holiest and most central place. Cappadocius told his progeny that they must be nearer, spiritually and physically, to God. He did not tell them that this mountain was the sight of his conversion, nor that the mountain beneath the monastery now contained a conduit to the realm of the dead, a conduit that he himself had created and baptized in the blood of innocents. Using the newly constructed Temple of Erciyes, built upon the framework of the old monastery, Cappadocius and the other believers swiftly spread Christianity through the ranks of the clan, until it was a rare Cappadocian indeed who didn’t follow some form of that faith. The clan turned much of its effort to preserving and spreading the religion, granting persecuted Christians safe haven in Derinkuyu and Kaymakli, and assisting in the funding and building of churches. For hundreds of years they continued thus, digging ever further into the riddle of death, barely aware as history passed them by. Cappadocius himself took up residence in Derinkuyu, to be nearer so many who shared his faith (and, not coincidentally, because an underground city provided excellent protection from the sun). Certainly, a great many of your departed clanmates would have wished that he had not made his home there. For if he had not, he would not have seen how sorely the presence of the Cappadocians taxed the

mortal inhabitants of the city. He would not have seen how sickly they became providing nourishment for so many Cainites. He would not have seen how frightened they were of their masters’ studies of the dead, how fearful they were for not merely their bodies, but their souls. He would not have realized how vast the clan had grown, how careless he and the others had been in bestowing the Embrace. And he would not then have embarked upon what since has been dubbed

The Feast of Folly Cappadocius convened the entire clan, or as near to its entirety as he could make it, in a special gathering within the city of Kaymakli. There he and his helpers, Caias and Japheth, slowly culled the numbers of Cappadocians, leading all those who were not deemed “worthy” into the underground portions of the city. Worthiness is, of course, a relative thing. Any Cappadocian who had not assisted in the planning or construction of a church or temple, who was not literate, who had not conducted research into the riddle of death — all these, and more, were doomed. When finally only those who met the ancient’s criteria remained, Cappadocius sealed the entrance to the city with a great stone portal and lay upon it a powerful ward. “Let no childe of Caine ever leave through this passage; let no son of Seth enter.” Imagine it, little vampire. Literally thousands of your kind, trapped together underground, with no

EGYPT he lands of the Nile beckon to the Cappadocians with a siren’s song. For a clan obsessed with unearthing the secrets of death and the dead, Egypt is perhaps the greatest treasure trove the world has to offer. Unfortunately, it is also the home of the Followers of Set, a clan with whom the Cappadocians have had more than one conflict. Cappadocians still make regular attempts to infiltrate that land and study the secrets within, but most inevitably draw the attentions of the Serpents, who do not desire to share their knowledge. The Setites have corrupted more than one Cappadocian; even Lazarus himself turned traitor to his clan in exchange for Setite knowledge and power, and slew Caias Koine before he himself disappeared into the earth. The answers may lie there still, buried beneath thousands of years of sand and blood, but the Cappadocians have not yet found a means to reach them.

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hope of escape and nothing on which to feed save each other. The carnage, the hunger, the agony must have been unbelievable, so great that even the God who damned your kind must have felt a swell of pity for those who suffered. Cappadocius sent the mortal residents of Kaymakli out into the world, telling them the city was cursed and they should never return. He and his surviving progeny then returned once more to the various tasks that lay ahead of them.

The Second Revelation came to the ancient not terribly long after the Feast of Folly, in the form of another powerful vision — one, I might add, that has made more than a few of us question the sanity of your progenitor. Apparently, he witnessed the Crucifixion, followed by the thousands of screaming and starving Cappadocians trapped beneath Kaymakli, which he took to mean that the sacrifice of his childer was necessary for the good of all. He then saw himself on the cross, with throngs of mortals weeping around him. He took this to mean that, in order to answer his questions and to ensure the survival of kine and Cainite alike, he must become God.

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Cappadocius and several of his closest childer began researching ways of obtaining divinity and hit upon the notion — inspired by various Gnostic and Zoroastrian writings — of performing a ritual that would allow Cappadocius to consume God, to diablerize Him if you will, and thus ascend the throne of Heaven. From there, he might bring Heaven physically to Earth, combining life and death into a single unending existence free of pain and evil. And you vampires call Malkav the mad one. While the ancient was involved in his lunatic quest for these answers, most of the surviving clan was spreading throughout the known world. It is an irony, I think, that the Cappadocians attained true power and status within Cainite and mortal institutions only after the vast majority of the clan was entombed. Many of your brethren made alliances with the Ventrue and other powerful Cainite lords, offering their sage counsel and information gleaned in their research in exchange for facilities in which to study and funds to finance that research. Cappadocians developed medical, cultural, anthropological and necromantic theories and unearthed ancient mysteries at a rate heretofore unheard of, thanks to the backing of the

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

FATHER CAPPADOCIAN

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espite the drawbacks our narrator has just enumerated, some few Cappadocians did indeed attain power within the Church, either as priests themselves or by bringing churchmen under their influence. Church records and tomes provided these Graverobbers untold insights into religious matters of life and death, to say nothing of offering substantial power over governments who knew better than to ignore the “requests” of their Church leaders. A small number of these religious Cappadocians, however, have decided that their founder’s quest to supplant God qualifies as blasphemy. As of yet, these Cappadocians have taken no action against their founder, for they love and respect him still, and pray nightly that he will come to his senses and turn from this path that is not only foolish but sinful. As the years creep on, however, and Cappadocius shows no sign of changing his objectives, these faithful among his flock begin to consider that their only option will be to take steps and somehow stop their progenitor from damning himself — and possibly all his clan with him. Some few of these Cappadocians, desperate and seeing no other choice, have even begun communicating regularly and clandestinely with the newest family of Cappadocians, the Venetian Giovanni. Perhaps these newcomers, whom Cappadocius appears to hold in abnormally high regard, can talk some sense into the Antediluvian before it’s too late … Patricians and others. Almost despite themselves, the Cappadocians found themselves in positions of status, wielding authority — in their patron’s name, if in no other manner — over other Cainites. Other Cappadocians found themselves drawn to the Church. Given both the religious leanings of your clan and the fascination with the dead and the afterlife, I find it surprising only that more of you did not heed the call to serve. Most Cappadocian churchmen remained in lowly positions, monks and friars, rather than attaining any high ranks. Partially this was due to the presence of Lasombra and Brujah who had already taken such positions, but mostly it’s because few priests or parishioners are quite so trusting as to accept a walking corpse as their spiritual shepherd.

Cappadocius himself, his mind nearly overwhelmed with all the ideas and knowledge he’d acquired, began spending a great deal of his time in torpor while his most trusted childer — specifically Japheth and Constancia — continued to delve for more information on acquiring divinity. Not long after the turn of the 11th century, the Cappadocians discovered

The Giovanni At the time they … would you prefer I said “you,” little vampire? Very well. You were a family of necromancers and merchants, based in the city of Venice but with ties and connections throughout much of the European continent. Your patriarch was a loathsome, power-hungry beast of a man by the name of Augustus. Oh, do be still. You know it to be true. The Giovanni had accomplished wonders with the arts of necromancy, delving far more deeply into the world and secrets of the dead than most, if not all, who had come before. The Cappadocians who discovered them, elated at the possibilities they presented, returned immediately to Erciyes with the news. Japheth, always cautious, wanted to wait and observe these Giovanni before bringing them to the attention of the slumbering Antediluvian, but Constancia — Allah bless her black and impatient heart! — refused to wait. She communed with Cappadocius through his dreams, and the ancient was overjoyed at the news. He had Japheth take a jar of Cappadocius’ most ancient blood and set it aside for use in Embracing Augustus Giovanni, should he decide to accept their invitation. For his own part, though he took almost a year to consider it, there was never any real doubt what Augustus’ answer might be. The power he was being offered — especially considering that the Cappadocian messengers rather downplayed the disadvantages of the vampiric condition — would have tempted a far less ambitious and more scrupulous man than he. Augustus traveled to Erciyes where, over the strenuous objections of Japheth and even Constancia, he received the blood of the Antediluvian and became Cainite. Augustus went on to begin Embracing selected members of his mortal family, bringing them into the fold as well. I think it likely that someone, perhaps Japheth himself, must have told the old man of the Feast of Folly, for the numbers of his Embrace dropped off sharply after his first few nights. Still, by that time, a substantial number of Giovanni was no longer mortal.

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7

JAPHETH’S CURSE

e who partakes of this boon shall for ever be judged by this blood and by the will of God. Color this vitae with the deeds of its drinker. Let him sup with his soul every time he feeds. Deliver this blight unto him as the founder delivers this stigma unto us.” Thus spoke Japheth over the vessel containing Cappadocius’ blood before delivering it to Augustus. The precise meaning of his curse yet remains unclear, for neither Augustus himself nor the Giovanni he has Embraced seem to suffer any ill effects. Perhaps Japheth’s curse, for all the anger with which it was spoken, has no real power. Or perhaps its power has simply not yet manifested …. It is also worth noting that Japheth and Constancia kept a vessel of Augustus’ own blood, drained from him during the process of Embrace. Where that vessel is now, none can say, but the power it would grant a knowledgeable sorcerer over the Giovanni patron is considerable. Augustus himself remains ignorant of the existence of that jar, else he would surely have bent all his efforts to retrieving it by now. “

Some of the Cappadocians objected to the inclusion of the Giovanni in their midst, but for the majority of the clan, it was just another detail, one hardly worth considering until and unless Giovanni nigrimancy succeeded in bringing them closer to the secrets of death. Japheth himself fell into torpor not long after the Embrace of Augustus; this left the Giovanni patron in command of the clan, but given the informal structure of the Cappadocians, such a position had no real meaning. While he slumbered, Cappadocius experienced yet another vision,

The Third and Final Revelation In it, Cappadocius himself, along with all his childer, were consumed in a bloody conflagration, an inferno of unimaginable size. Just beyond the flames, shadowed figures laughed as Cappadocians died. From the ashes of the Antediluvian, a single spark rose of its own accord and floated — or was raised — into Heaven. Cappadocius jolted awake from torpor, certain that he and his entire clan were doomed. He fled Erciyes to Rome, where his allies in the Church

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granted him access to the secret library of the Vatican. There, the ancient searched madly for documents that would set him firmly on the path to godhead, for he knew that he must work swiftly if he was to forestall the doom he now saw lying before him. Once he’d assembled all the books, scrolls and other relevant documents, Cappadocius vanished from Rome. None has seen him since that night, and even the dead cannot pinpoint his location. It was left to Japheth to deliver the news of their dark fate to those Cappadocians who could attend their yearly gathering at Erciyes. From there, word has spread throughout most of the clan, although some =few still remain ignorant of their doom. Some Cappadocians have abandoned all hope, growing listless and despairing. Others work with renewed vigor, seeking either to overcome destiny itself or at least to leave the largest mark they can before the end. I know that your own family labors hard, deep in congress with the spirits of the dead. It is another irony that the Cappadocian clan, at least in terms of Cainite and mortal culture, is more powerful now than ever. Its alliance with the Ventrue remains strong. Several of your clanmates have risen to positions of prominence; I understand the new Prince of Sofia is Cappadocian. Yet all this power is meaningless, if the clan itself is soon to perish. And now, little vampire, let me grant you a

Final Answer You asked, “Why are we as we are?” I have told you why — but I have not truly answered your question, have I? You wished to know why the pallor of death seems lessened within the Giovanni bloodline, why your elders grow less corpselike when other elder Cappadocians grow more so? It is because, little vampire, we wish it thus. The spirits who yet cleave to a portion of Cappadocius’ soul — and to the souls of all others of your clan, after Caine’s curse — we ourselves keep away from you and yours. You see, we wish to distance the Giovanni from their parent clan, for we know what it is you are capable of. We know what you plan. And we wish you success, for only with the death of the monster that slew us and trapped us in this hole between life and death can we ourselves be free. Of course, I cannot let you leave knowing that, child. You might speak to the wrong person and interfere with what must be. You will join us here, your bones mixed with ours. But take heart, child... Your imprisonment, if your family and your patron play

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HISTORY FOR CAPPADOCIAN CHARACTERS

Graverobbers tend to learn the history of their clan from their elders as most first cursed Cainites do. Most sires place great emphasis on the failings of other clans and how mass deaths among the kine tend to result when vampires clash. While Clan Cappadocian has certainly caused its share of human fatality, these events tend to be somewhat glossed over. It isn’t that the Graverobbers feel guilty or even embarrassed about the mortals they kill, but the fact that the founder of the clan is a “good Christian” makes the rest of the clan reluctant to present events such as the destruction of Carthage or the sack of Rome in a favorable light. Whatever specific lessons they are taught, Cappadocians almost always have a deep respect for history. They know that the bodies of the dead, to say nothing of the artifacts they leave behind, tell their stories for those intelligent enough to look. Many Cappadocians wonder what future generations of vampires will glean from the records they leave behind. Very few Cappadocians harbor any fantasies about true immortality.

their parts well in the final act of Cappadocius’ little drama, will be far, far shorter than ours.

Points of Contention The Cappadocians are a clan driven, spurred on by the knowledge of their fate and the hope that they may yet avoid it. As such, while many work individually as best they are able, certain events and activities impact the clan as a whole.

Hidden Alliances In their desperate quest for knowledge and a means to save their clan, whether they know of their founder’s quest for godhood or are merely seeking some arcane secret that might lead them into the (metaphorical) light, some Cappadocians have chosen to deal with anyone who might harbor such knowledge — whether or not interaction with them is wise. The past few years have seen a marked increase in Cappadocian interaction with Setites and Tremere. Other clans who learn of these connections may wonder at the repercussions (particularly with regard

to the Tremere, as the Cappadocians seem to be setting themselves up for an eventual conflict with the Tzimisce), but the Cappadocians seem to have succeeded at keeping these exchanges purely on the level of information trading. What ancient lore they might have obtained from the Setites, however, or what mystical secrets from the Usurpers, is anybody’s guess. Rumors persist that some desperate Cappadocians have even made contact with enclaves of the Baali, but this remains unconfirmed — possibly because any guilty Graverobber knows that her own brethren would likely tear her apart for such a transgression.

A Final Pilgrimage A small but growing number of Cappadocians have returned to the sunken city of Kaymakli, where — despite knowing full well that they will be unable to leave — they have willingly stepped through their progenitor’s ward and disappeared into the depths. Some claim that they are seeking a place of safety, that they intend to wait out the destruction of the rest of their clan and then emerge once Cappadocius himself is dead and the ward has fallen. (Where they developed the notion that the ward would automatically fall with its creator’s death is unclear, but these pilgrims cling to it as gospel.) One or two of these individuals have made oblique comments about “being called to safety,” but if they are responding to some call that others of their clan cannot hear, nobody has been able to detect it, even through the use of Auspex and other Disciplines.

The Purge The Cappadocians have managed to keep relatively secret the fact that a small number of the clan is engaged in actively hunting those fugitives who failed to appear at the Feast of Folly. Though Cappadocius never specifically ordered such an act, some of the clan figure that finishing the job their founder began can only please him. Furthermore, they argue, they might be protecting the clan itself; what if it’s these fugitives who are responsible for the dark fate awaiting them all? Who would be in a better position to harm the clan than those who know its ways and secrets? The Giovanni have devoted much of their efforts toward assisting this purge and account for at least half of those Cappadocians undertaking it.

The Face of God An enormous portion of the Cappadocian clan is currently devoted to the acquisition of various types of knowledge, from the mystical to the religious. Perhaps the most ambitious research is also the most secret;

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several Cappadocian scholars are actively engaged in an effort to understand God fully and completely. To that end, they are accumulating all the writings ever created about God, or the gods, in every known religion... This monumental task could easily take hundreds of lifetimes, but those participating in it have reason to hope they may still have sufficient time. Their methods of acquisition range from the legal — through purchase or trade — to the violent. Their researches have caused them to delve into tomes that various religions have declared anathema or heretical, as well as to participate in some of the above-mentioned contacts with the Setites. Unfortunately, some of these Cappadocians have unearthed ancient “faces” of God that, apparently, were better left forgotten. Several small cults that resemble infernalist sects are cropping up throughout the ranks of the most learned Cappadocian religious scholars. The remainder of the clan is desperately trying to stamp them out and hide all evidence of their existence before word leaks out to the other clans.

Religious Pursuits

After the Feast of Folly, few Cappadocians remain who aren’t actively engaged in some sort of activity on behalf of — or at least approved by — the elders of the clan. We strongly suggest you undertake one of these, or at least something like them; after all, you saw what happened to the others ….

• You feel a deep spiritual connection to God, probably but not necessarily the God of the Catholic Church. You may dwell in a monastery or other religious institution, or you may simply practice your own brand of faith, but in either event, veneration of the Almighty is your primary activity. Of course, the fact that you revere God doesn’t mean you like Him; your spiritual connection could just as easily be anger at what He’s done to you as love for His works. Still, you acknowledge that you are part of His plan, even if you play a part you’d rather not have, and seek to understand what that plan might be. • Perhaps because of your specific skills and education, or maybe just because your sire was someone of importance, you are in on Cappadocius’ greatest secret — you know that he intends, eventually, to ascend the throne of Heaven and take God’s place. Your researches into religion are inspired not by any devotion to God but by a desire to assist your progenitor in bringing his dream to fruition, for the good of all Cappadocians, and all Cainites. Of course, you must keep your goals, if not your activities, a closely guarded secret. Were other Cainites to learn of what you’re doing, those who didn’t dismiss you as mad as a Malkavian would certainly seek to do you harm in their failure to comprehend.

Scholarship and Studies

Political Aspirations

Player’s Toolbox

• Like so many of your brethren, you are fascinated with knowledge, particularly ancient secrets of death and beyond. Whether it’s in the hidden libraries of abandoned monasteries or the private collections of idle noblemen, no tome will escape your thorough investigations, though it may take many mortal lifetimes. You have made it your unlife’s mission to collect all such tomes and knowledge — and the wishes of their current owners be damned. Mortals are too short-lived to understand such things anyway, and other Cainites lack your devotion. Surely, most will see that; if they don’t, well, they may serve as your scouts and emissaries to the great beyond. • You seek knowledge of death, not from musty old books, but from musty old corpses — and, in some cases, fresh ones. You study the effects of death, from the precise moment when the soul departs the body to the prolonged process of decay. You aren’t especially popular with your brethren; you often smell of death, and you’ve probably taken more lives than even most Cainites would consider strictly necessary. Your quest

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for understanding runs a very real risk of crossing the line into obsession — if it hasn’t done so already.

• You stand at the right hand — or perhaps just over the right shoulder — of a prince or lord. You might have no official rank yourself, but your advice on matters mystical, political and/or religious is of vital importance. You might be happy to remain in the background, asking favors and pulling strings behind the scene. Alternatively, you may see this as your stepping stone to real power, taking your cue from Bela Rusenko — the new Cappadocian Prince of Sofia — and seeking power that, until recently, few of your clan have ever held.

I Regret That I Cannot Attend … • For whatever reason, your sire was unable to attend the Feast of Folly — and you have no doubt that, had she gone, she would never have left and you would never have received the Embrace. You spend your nights looking over your shoulder, convinced that your surviving clanmates are coming after you to ensure you follow your errant brethren (and sire) into torpor or Final Death. Whether or not this is actually

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

the case is arguable, of course, but you don’t intend to stand still long enough to prove the point.

Lasombra Fear of the dark is bred into the Children of Seth, just as it must be bred out of the Childer of Caine. The darkness is your home now, so you had best make your peace with it, and learn to make fear your friend and ally. — Ambrosio Luis Monçada, Keeper of the Faith From The Shadows of History, author unknown What is truth, except what we choose to make of it? For some truth is the light, for others, a fleeting shadow, without substance. Some claim that these words are the truth, but I do not. They are but words. The truth, if it exists, lies elsewhere, but these words may prove a path toward it, if you are willing to follow it and be mindful. Do not mistake words for truth, or else you will fall into a web of your own lies. Know that truth is not found in words, or even in deeds, but only in the stillness of the darkness, alone with yourself. This is the truth that has been revealed to us, the Lasombra, the Friends of Darkness, Nobility of the Night, since the first nights of the world.

The Shadowed One The Shadowed One was reborn into darkness through blood and pain. His mortal life, like his mortal name, is of no consequence. Sufficient to say that it was unremarkable in nearly every way. It is his immortal existence that concerns us, when he rose as a grandchilde of the Dark Father, one of the first of the third generation of the childer of Caine. He arose in the First City, ruled by the Dark Father and those of the second generation. From the very beginning, the Shadowed One remained close to the darkness that was his by right of blood. Shadows clung to him and the night was his home. Great cats stalked at his feet as he hunted and feasted, and slaves and servants feared and worshipped him. So it was for many nights, until the coming of the Great Flood that washed away the First City, showing the Shadowed One a greater darkness than even the starless night, the depths of the endless sea. How long he wandered its depths, none can say, existing wrapped in the arms of darkness, like being submerged in ink, beyond the reach of the sun. He existed and he hunted, the Shadowed One of the Deeps, in darkness and silence profound, the most feared predator of the seas, until the time when the floodwaters receded and the childer of Caine embraced the dry land once more.

They sought to rebuild the glory that was the First City, but the second generation did not rule with the wisdom or strength of the Dark Father, who left his childer before the coming of the Flood. The Cainites of the third generation grew restive under the oppressive yoke of their elders and in time plotted against them. They rose up in rebellion and there ensued a great and terrible slaughter. So it was that the second generation met their ends at the hands of their own childer, who sought to take the Second City for their own. Then Caine, the Dark Father, returned from his wanderings and saw the work of his grandchilder, saw the city they had built lying in ruins about them, saw the blood of their sires upon their hands and lips. And the Dark Father’s anger was great at the sight of this, and he cursed and banished his progeny from the city they had built, demanding that they learn to rule with both wisdom and strength to prove themselves worthy of the power that they claimed. So the Shadowed One—never truly content in the city his brethren built—returned to the darkness and to the sea.

The Sea Peoples The Shadowed One’s people were the People of the Sea, rootless and wandering like the Antediluvian, preying upon others as he did upon mortalkind. The Sea Peoples, or Hyksos, as they were known, were great warriors, sailors and raiders. They settled lands on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea, the sea in the center of the ancient world. They dominated commerce on the waters and along the shore, demanding tribute to stay their wrath, raiding those ships that dared to defy them. The Hyksos even raided and conquered inland, bringing them into conflict with peoples and lands influenced by the other Antediluvians and childer of Caine. They conquered and ruled the Black Land of Egypt for two successive dynasties, wresting control from the scions of Set and forcing his childer into exile. They raided into the lands of Greece and Italy, weakening the strongholds of Brujah, Toreador, Ventrue and others. The Cainites of these lands suspected the hand of one of their own behind these fierce and determined raiders. They became certain when the Sea Peoples offered up their prayers and battle cries to the power of darkness that they named Laza Omri Baras, “The God of the River of Darkness.” The Greeks and Thebans gave the Sea Peoples’ god the name Lau-Som-Bheu, meaning “profiting by knowledge” or “profiting together through domination,”

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for such was the way of the raiders and their dark lord. So the name that would become “Lasombra” was first spoken among mortals and Cainites. Still the Shadowed One himself was seen little in those days. He dwelled upon an island, some said, or in the depths of the wine-dark sea, rising from time to time to hunt and to guide his worshippers. Occasionally, he granted his Embrace to a chosen few, but less and less often as time passed. For centuries, the Sea Peoples were strong under the watchful guidance of their dark god. The destruction of the isle of Thera in the Mediterranean Sea signaled the beginning of the end for them. Was it the work of a rival of the third generation or of the Hand of God? None can truly say. The tremendous eruption spread darkness across the sea and the land with a cloud of ash and dust. The devastation to the island and coastal settlements of the Sea Peoples drove many of our kind to seek their fortunes elsewhere, and even the Shadowed One, the god Lau-Som-Bheu, abandoned his chosen people to travel under the pall of the eruption’s shadow, in the depths of the sea. It was during this time that our clan spread far and wide, as the Shadowed One Embraced childer in distant places and lands, many of whom also Embraced, creating legends of walkers in darkness in places such as Africa and parts of the distant East.

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF JULIA ANTASIA:

F

hile I have my own suspicions as to the identity and agenda of this history’s author, I cannot fault the scholarship of this early history of the Lasombra. It does not even overly romanticize the nature of the Sea Peoples and their raids of conquest throughout the Mediterranean, merely states them as fact. Other clans did indeed believe that an Antediluvian was behind the Sea Peoples, worshipped by them as a god (or, perhaps, goddess; the tales vary). If anything, the only supposition that I cannot support is the author’s assertion that the Lasombra Antediluvian traveled the world following the destruction of Thera, Embracing childer in distant lands. Still, the Lasombra are known in many places, so it is at least possible that he did so. Certainly, the Antediluvian travels far less in these nights than he did then.

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In the Shadows of Rome The power of the Sea Peoples declined, until the Roman general Pompey took it upon himself to rid the Mediterranean Sea of piracy altogether, to protect Roman shipping. In a matter of months, he made the Latin name Mere Nostrum, “Our Sea,” the literal truth, wiping out pirates and raiders upon the Mediterranean without mercy. Rome became the preeminent power on the sea, and many havens and strongholds of our clan fell to Roman raids and conquest. The subtle hand of the Ventrue or some other clan may lie behind Pompey’s work and support in the Senate, but the truth was that Rome was supreme on the sea that was once ours. So our clan moved onto the land, and into the lands that were Rome’s. The Roman Republic gave way to an empire, ruled by the Caesars, and we found our way into the shadows of the Empire, throughout all the lands where it stretched its influence. In those shadows, we discovered mortals sheltering a small light, a secretive cult that worshipped an executed Jewish prophet and called themselves Christians after him. Their fear of the darkness and their willingness to stand against it was intriguing, and many Lasombra were drawn to them. By the time that Constantine adopted Christianity as the official religion of the Empire, we were already there within the ranks of its hierarchy, influencing the nascent Church and its doctrine. More often, our clan was the source of various heresies that the Church fathers outlawed, but many survived in the shadows as we have always done, including the Cainite Heresy that spread the worship of our Dark Father. By the time the Ventrue realized that the Empire was crumbling and the Church remained its sole bastion of strength, our influence was already too strong for them to displace, although they tried. So darkness descended over the world again, as it always does, with the Cainites of the Clan of Darkness sheltered in the last stronghold of the light. Where the Church has spread the word of God, we have been there, watching from the shadows. Most of our clan remained close to the Church in Rome rather than fleeing with many Cainites to Byzantium, although some Lasombra chose to seek their fortunes in the East.

Friends of Darkness Perhaps it was the influence of the orderly Romans or of the Christians and their hierarchy. Maybe it was the will of the Antediluvian, or some combination of these factors, but Clan Lasombra changed during its time in the Empire, becoming more than scattered bands of pirates. It was during this time that

• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF PARSIFAL:

C

he Lasombra influence over the Mother Church has always been greatly exaggerated, most likely by the Lasombra themselves, who would have us believe that they hold the Cardinals and His Holiness the Pope himself in the hollow of their hand, to do with as they will. The truth of the matter is that the Lasombra have always imitated the ways of the Church — its rituals, ranks and ambitions — but their actual influence over Church affairs is quite limited, as is that of any Cainite clan. The mere existence of the inquisitors and secret efforts by certain factions within the Church to exterminate our kind should be proof enough of that. Would they even exist if the Lasombra wielded the sort of power that they claim? Though some might believe the inquisitors are merely tools of one clan or another, they have left none untouched in their zeal, not even the Lasombra. the Amici Noctis, the Friends of Night, came into being and extended their influence over the clan through the Courts of Blood. The Amici were empowered — perhaps by Lasombra himself, perhaps only by their own ambition — with the authority to mete out judgment and settle disputes among members of the clan. They further the goals of the clan and decide who is worthy of survival and who is not. Moreover, they have the right to sanction the Amaranth, passing the power of the blood to those worthy of it, which has ensured their continuation and influence. Although the Amici wield considerable power within the clan, they are by no means the sole power. If anything, that title rests with the Shadowed One himself, with the Lasombra, who still dwells among us. More accurately, the Antediluvian dwells within the walls of Castel d’Ombro, the Castle of Shadows, on the isle of Sicily. There also dwell two of the most influential of Lasombra’s childer. The first is Montano, Embraced by Lasombra before the birth of Christ, a favored childe of the Antediluvian since that time. While Lasombra slumbers in the Castle of Shadows, Montano is its master, and he dispenses justice to his kin with a fair and even hand. This has earned him few friends among the Amici Noctis, and Montano has banned the Friends of Night from conducting their business on the Isle of Sicily under pain of Final Death, a threat that the

Amici are wise to take seriously. Apart from seeing to the affairs of his sire’s haven, Montano has little involvement in the business of our clan, although he could exercise considerable authority, if he chose to do so. The other, more recent, inhabitant of Castel d’Ombro is Gratiano de Veronese, a young bishop Embraced by Lasombra less than a hundred years ago. Gratiano was born to a noble family in Italy. An ambitious young man, he entered the priesthood, and his family’s wealth and influence bought him a bishopric by the time he was in his twenties. His skill in oratory from the pulpit raised the righteous anger of his congregations, which Gratiano was often able to direct against his family’s rivals. He intended to do far more, ultimately hoping to unite the disparate citystates under one rule, his rule. He failed and began plotting to betray his family and his land to certain nobles in Bavaria and Bohemia. In return, he would receive control over much of Italy. His family discovered Gratiano’s treachery and the authorities arrested him. He was tortured and interrogated, then left alone in his dank cell. That was when Lasombra first came to him and offered the young bishop the Embrace. Gratiano refused at first, but further torture and the promise of execution left him with little choice. He accepted the Antediluvian’s offer and took the Embrace, spirited away from his cell into the shadows. Now Gratiano is Lasombra’s favored childe at the Castle of Shadows, and he continues his efforts at meddling in the political affairs of his homeland. Some wonder about the Antediluvian’s favor for the rabble-rouser Gratiano, but never openly.

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF JULIA ANTASIA:

0

nd so we see one reason why the au thor of this work remains anonymous. I think it would be fair to say that the author is someone involved in the inner circles of Lasombra affairs to have gathered so much knowledge about them, particularly about the goings-on at the Castle of Shadows. Why the desire to share the history of the clan with others? While I cannot say for certain, it seems to me that the author wants certain things known before they are changed, fully aware that history is often the work of those in power. It seems to me that changes may be coming for the Lasombra, whether they know it yet or not.

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HISTORY FOR LASOMBRA CHARACTERS

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ike many things about the Lasombra, their history is made up of shadows and half-truths. Whether or not any of it is actually true is in question, although the Lasombra maintain it as the absolute truth. After all, how many of the clans have such close contact with their Antediluvian founders and can claim to be in the presence of so much unliving history? The Shadowed One’s influence is felt throughout the clan, directly or indirectly. Lasombra sires tell their childer tales of the Antediluvian’s power and what he does to those who fail in their duties to the clan and their sires. The Lasombra founder is like a bogeyman to the younger generations, but he is also a presence for the elders of the clan, who cannot predict what their progenitor may do at any given time. While the Amici Noctis control the nightly affairs of the Lasombra, they are keenly aware that they do so at the Shadowed One’s sufferance and that he could take away their power, if he wished. His occasional comings and goings are of grave concern. What plots does the Antediluvian hatch in his long slumbers in the Castle of Shadows? For many younger Lasombra, recent history is of greater interest. The Reconquista in Iberia concerns them, as do the activities of Pope Gregory and the Church in Rome. Both events have embroiled the clan in conflict, but they also offer opportunities for ambitious Lasombra willing to take risks to secure future power.

Points of Contention A number of potential conflicts brew among the Lasombra. Most are just beneath the surface, waiting for the time when they will bubble over.

The Reconquista Many Lasombra are occupied in the current nights by the events of the Reconquista in Iberia as Christian kingdoms slowly drive the Muslims from that land. Officially, the Lasombra have nothing to do with the Reconquista, but everyone knows that is merely a front, since the Cainites cannot possibly remain neutral with the future of so many mortal kingdoms hanging in the balance. In recent years the Amici Noctis have made it increasingly clear that they favor the Chris-

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tians in the conflict and believe that a Christian Iberia will be both more united and more easily influenced. Despite the long association between the Lasombra and the Catholic Church, more than a few Muslim members of the clan feel abandoned by their elders. Some are torn between loyalty to their faith and their homelands and loyalty to their clan, or at least the sufficient appearance of loyalty to advance their cause. Indeed two of the greatest leaders on opposite sides of the conflict — Badr, Sultan of Granada, and Reinaldo de Rubio, Prince of Compostela — are both Lasombra. Although the clan maintains an outward stance of neutrality, the conflict behind the scenes is becoming fierce, with Muslim Lasombra seeking alliances with the Assamites and any others who will support them in their struggle and the Christian Cainite lords of Iberia gathering support from the other courts of Europe to oust the Saracen Cainites altogether and claim their domains for themselves. See Dark Ages Europe and Iberia by Night for more details on the Reconquista and its effects on the Lasombra and other Cainites.

The Church The Lasombra have been associated with the Christian Church almost since its founding, and many Lasombra are devout Christians of one sort or another. Of course, just as many are cynical manipulators who see the Church as little more than a tool, but the strain of religious fervor, and fanaticism, runs strong in Lasombra blood. In addition to the struggle between Christian and Muslim Lasombra in Iberia and elsewhere, numerous factions among the Christian faithful of the clan maintain their own rivalries and struggles. Followers of various heresies, particularly the Cainite Heresy, are common. Orthodox Christian Lasombra (if they can truly be said to exist) are often split on their relationship with the Church and with God. Lasombra in Italy cultivate influence within the hierarchy of the Church but do so with great care, since they have rivals within the Ventrue and other clans that also claim churchmen and clergy as allies. More importantly, only a rare few within the Church’s ranks are aware of the existence of the Damned and actively hunt them to purge the Mother Church of their influence. The Lasombra have run afoul of some of these self-proclaimed inquisitors and tread cautiously when dealing with them. Tales of miraculous powers of the faith

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wielded against younger and more foolish members of the clan are spreading throughout Europe.

Lasombra’s Favor The plans and goals of the Antediluvians have always been mysterious to Cainites of the younger generations, none more so than with Lasombra, the Shadowed One. Although the Antediluvian is more involved with his progeny than most, he is still given to long periods of torpor and works his own will on the occasions when he walks the night. One of the odder acts of Lasombra in recent memory is the Embrace of Gratiano de Veronese, who apparently holds his sire’s favor for the time being. Although Gratiano is a relative newcomer to the Castle of Shadows, the mere fact that he is the childe of the clan’s founder grants him considerable status, nearly rivaling that of Lasombra’s chosen viceroy and other favored childe, Montano, who rules over the citadel when its master lies in torpor. The potential conflict between the two “brothers” is clear, and elders of the clan have begun quietly to take sides. Gratiano has drawn the attention of many ambitious Lasombra, particularly those frustrated by Montano’s cautious and neutral stance on so many things. As vampires within the Castel d’Ombro jockey for favor and position they also keep a close watch on the Antediluvian’s comings and goings, wondering what Lasombra’s plans may be for his new protégé (if that is what he is), and if any other favored childer may be awaiting his Embrace. For his part, Gratiano is most interested in building influence in his homeland of Italy and eventually realizing his dream of uniting its disparate city-states under a single rule. Although Gratiano is well aware that he will not occupy that throne, nothing prevents him from being the power behind it, and he has made it clear that those who aid him will be richly rewarded when the time comes.

Player’s Toolbox Players can work history and current events involving the Lasombra into their characters’ backgrounds in a number of ways:

Tests of Faith • As a Muslim Cainite in Iberia, your position is a tenuous one, particularly as it has become clear that your clan supports the Reconquista... You are

torn between loyalty to your sire and clan and to your faith and your own ambitions to ascend through the ranks. Which must you betray? • Your faith in God has never wavered, not even when He laid this curse upon you as a supreme test of your worthiness. You will not be found wanting. Not all Cainites are so true in their faith, however, and you know that the Church is riddled with their corruption. Your clan is the worst offender of this sin of pride — using the Holy Church for ignoble ends. Though it may cost you your blood and whatever remains of your soul, you are the Lord’s avenger of sins and you will carry out His will. • Some within the Church know too much about the existence of the childer of Caine and about your strengths and weaknesses. These inquisitors pose a threat to you and your kind and to your future plans for the Church. Your elders would reward any who provided them with insights into the activities and identities of these mortals, and perhaps their zeal for hunting the Damned can be harnessed and turned toward more… productive ends.

Friends of Night • Your sire or mentor believes that you may have the potential to join the ranks of the Amici Noctis and has made it plan that they are watching you closely. You are being carefully groomed for a position of power within your clan. Can you swing matters in your favor? Do you even want to join the Friends of Night? • After your Embrace, you were buried and left for three days in the dark and dank earth. In the darkness, a voice whispered to you, saying you were destined for greatness among the childer of Caine, that you must accept your heritage and your destiny, accept the darkness within and without. That experience has left its mark upon you; you still fear confinement and still sometimes hear a voice, whispering to you from the shadows, telling you what you must do. • Your sire is a cruel and vicious taskmaster, but he taught you the skills needed to survive in the society of the Damned. Each torment inflicted upon you has been a lesson, and you have learned well, hiding away your hatred and playing the role of the dutiful childe. That has earned you a measure of your sire’s favor, if not his mercy. That is good, since it is only a matter of time before you will bring matters to the attention of the Friends of

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Night and petition to drink your sire’s vitae before the elders of your clan. Your chance will come, if only you are patient.

Crowns of Shadow • Gratiano de Veronese is seeking Cainites to aid him in interfering in the political affairs of Italy and has made it clear that the ultimate rewards will be great. Gratiano holds Lasombra’s favor for the moment, but he also has many enemies even within his own clan. Gratiano has also made it clear that those who do not stand with him may regret their decision when he comes into his own. Which side will you choose? • You thought yourself far from the conflicts in Iberia and Italy, in a humble but secure position in another court. Now your liege has honored you with the role of ambassador, acting as his eyes, ears and voice in the courts ruled by other members of your clan. You would rather avoid such entanglements, but now you have no choice. You wonder, does your liege believe you well suited for the task as he says, or does he hope to test your loyalty and mettle, and find you wanting? • You play a dangerous game, outwardly a loyal servant of the Reconquista and the Christian lords of Iberia, but secretly sworn to the faith of Islam and the cause of the Moorish Kingdoms. It has become clear to you that your Embrace was the will of Allah, placing you in the hands of his faithful servants and allowing you this opportunity. You will earn the trust of the enemies of your faith, knowing that to face True Death at their hands will only ensure you a place in Paradise.

Toreador We are like works of art, each unique and eternal, capturing fleeting feelings of beauty, passion, ugliness or pain. Moments frozen forever in time. — Isouda de Blaise, Queen of the Court of Love in Blois From On the History of the Artisans, by Katherine of Montpellier It is the duty and the fate of our clan to shelter and nurture beauty, and a part of beauty is truth, but truth also contains ugliness, so many of us turn away from it. We embrace beautiful lies instead, and truth is allowed to wither on the vine, like a rose caught in the grip of the first frost. We should know the central truth of our nature: that the birth of beauty is often fed by ugliness. How much decay gives the rose room to grow? How much blood, sweat and tears have gone into the great works of the past? How many lives have been sacrificed to raise monuments to challenge eternity?

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• PLAYERS GUIDE TO • • HIGH CLANS •

In my experience our kind tries too often to make history a thing of beauty, when instead it is the ugliness out of which beauty grows. It should be acknowledged no less for that and recognized for what it is. So I set pen to paper to record the ugliness, and the beauty, of our past, in hope that it will seed greater things to come for our clan and our kind.

The First City In the First City dwelled she who is the founder our of line, the source from which our blood flows down through the ages. As might be expected, she was a thing of beauty, one of the great beauties of the First City. She was also courageous and daring, for she was a bulldancer. She practiced the ancient art of dancing with death, leaping and soaring high above it, bringing grace and beauty to ugliness and danger, laughing and celebrating life amid the threat of death, and so she caught the eye of one of the Three, the childer of the Dark Father, Caine. Her Embrace was intended as a gift, to preserve her beauty and grace for all time. Her name was Ishtar, though she has been known by many names in many lands since those nights.

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF ETIENNE OF POITOU:

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hat utter nonsense! Though Lady Katherine is known and respected as a scholar, her interpretation of our noble clan’s history leaves much to be desired, and it is clearly seen through her own interests and with a bias toward her own sex. It is well known that the founder of our clan was Arikel, a sculptor in the First City, whose work so captured the majesty of the second generation that they granted him the immortality of Caine’s blood so that his genius would endure forever. Noddist lore tells us of his words and wisdom to his childer, whom he considered his greatest and most beautiful creations. This tale of a woman, a poor dancing-girl, as the founder of our clan is a fancy, even a heresy. Katherine accuses others of prettying history to cover its flaws, but of that particular sin, she is as guilty as any of us may be. Still, the remainder of her history is not without merit. Her facts beginning in our line’s time in the ancient world are generally correct, as long as you ignore her wild tales of our beginnings and consult true and reputable sources such as the words of the Book of Nod.

Of all the thirteen childer of the second generation, Ishtar clung most fervently to life and to the vitality she once knew. She understood the power of the Embrace to preserve beauty and the bitterness of the gift of immortality. She was lover and companion to her sire and sought to temper his moods and those of her brothers and sisters, but she could not hold back the flood forever. The wrath of God fell upon the First City, and the Great Flood washed it away. Still the childer of Caine survived and, in time, tried to recreate what had been lost.

The Second City The Second City was an act of creation. Ishtar sought to make it a thing of beauty, better than the First City had been, without its flaws. Her efforts were doomed from the very start, doomed by the plotting and scheming of her brothers and sisters of the blood. For the rest of the third generation was not content to serve or to obey their sires. They chafed under their edicts and their rule until they rose up in rebellion against the Three. Though she tried, Ishtar could not stem the tide calling out for blood any more than she could in the First City. The childer slew their sires, and in the end the Second City, the glory they had built together, lay in ruins around them. So it was that Caine returned from his wanderings to find his childer dead and the lips of their progeny dripping with their blood. So great was his anger that he cursed the upstarts and banished them from his sight. The founders of the clans were scattered to the four winds, having gained nothing from their patricide other than bitter exile. All save for Ishtar, the only one of the 13 who did not partake in the rebellion. The Dark Father spoke gently to the graceful dancer, telling her to flee the site of so much carnage and betrayal. For her loyalty and devotion, he blessed her with a gift: She would never lose her vitality and thirst for beauty, and a measure of this would be passed on to her childer. Her quest to create and preserve beauty would not be in vain, as long as she persevered. Ishtar left the ruins of the Second City and traveled to Sumer, where the mortals worshipped her as a goddess. It was there that she took her consort (and later childe) Tammuz, who sacrificed himself to protect his beloved from her enemies. Ishtar left Sumer and its bitter memories behind and made her way then to Crete, where she taught them the art of bulldancing and sought to recapture some of what was lost in the First City. She was successful for a time, until King Minos demanded that she grant him the immortality of the

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FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF RODRIGO:

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owhere except in the works of Toreador scholars do I find claims that their clan alone escaped Caine’s curse. Indeed, every clan seems to claim to hold the Dark Father’s favor, except perhaps the Nosferatu (and who would believe that?). What of the ancient tales that say Saulot the scholar was the sole member of the 13 to escape Caine’s wrath? What of the Ventrue scholars who believe that their line was predestined by Caine to rule over his other unruly childer? For myself, I cannot say whether or not the Toreador line escaped Caine’s curse, but I doubt whether or not any of us who are of his blood can rightly make such a claim.

Embrace or face exile. Instead, Ishtar granted the Embrace to Minos’ son, who was unworthy of it and was driven mad by the Beast, becoming as hideous as Ishtar was beautiful. Minos had a complex laby-

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rinth built to hold his mad son prisoner, sacrificing beautiful youths and maidens to sate his eternal bloodlust, until the Greek hero Theseus came and put an end to his wretched existence.

The Ancient World The Toreador herself disappeared from Crete, some say in the company of the inventor Daedalus, builder of the Labyrinth. From here she vanishes from history as well. Most likely the Antediluvian entered torpor at some point, after creating progeny in Greece such as the musician Amphion. From these childer are descended the current members of our clan. The civilization of the ancient Greeks suited the nature of the Toreador’s progeny well. The arts were in their fullest flower in Mycenae, Athens and other centers of Greek civilization. Sculptors, playwrights, poets and musicians were there aplenty, along with philosophy, weaving, woodworking, architecture and all the many other wonders of the ancient world. For a time our kind prospered and their numbers multiplied. Artisans were Embraced to preserve their genius and their works. Mortal rulers were bound by blood to the Cainite masters and mistresses who ruled

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from the shadows. Our kind molded mortal society to suit them and to fulfill the ideals passed down by the Toreador. Unfortunately, the curse of Uriel took hold and the Cainites of Greece began to squabble and fight among themselves. Many met Final Death in those days, while the rest were driven into torpor or forced to leave behind all they had built. The Golden Age of Greek civilization faded like the blush from a rose and was no more.

The Glory and Fall of Rome The failure of the Greeks scattered and disheartened our clan. For centuries, Artisans preserved and recalled their glory days, keeping ancient knowledge and achievement alive but losing sight of the living world around us. I’m told that time passed strangely for those Toreador; the nights dragged by one by one in an endless procession, then, suddenly, mortal lifetimes had passed. It was as if the Toreador had entered torpor as a clan, and many elders did so in truth. What caught our attention and collective imagination was the rise of Rome under the guidance of the Ventrue. Though able leaders, the Ventrue and their Roman pawns lacked the spark of genius that the

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF CAMILLA:

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atherine would have us believe that the Toreador have abstained from vulgar matters of state throughout time when in truth they have been among the most pervasive manipulators of all Cainites. The Toreador stood in the thick of things in Rome. They became “patrons” of more than just artisans and scholars. They held senators, generals and even emperors under their sway. Their orgies of blood were legendary even among their Ventrue allies. Rome was a time of unrivaled decadence for the Toreador, when more than a few of them chose to walk the Road of Desire (now called the Road of Sin). Before the Ventrue struck an alliance with the Toreador and allowed them free rein in the Eternal City, Rome was strong. Toreador decadence and corruption spread like a poison throughout the city and the empire. It weakened the patrician families and the emperors; it even tainted the Ventrue and their works. The Toreador may have sought to build in Rome, but in the end they destroyed everything that they touched, until Rome fell to the barbarian hordes.

Greeks had held. They sought it out and we offered it to them, seeing the opportunity to create once more. The Ventrue no doubt believed that they secured our cooperation through guile and majesty, but the truth is that the Toreador saw the potential of Rome and had little interest in the Ventrue’s games of power.

The Long Night The fall of Rome struck at the heart of our clan. Even before the Long Night fell, there were signs. The growth of Christianity in Rome was as a blight to the Children of Caine, since the Christians devoted themselves to destroying our kind wherever they encountered us. They were even willing to burn Rome to the ground to cleanse it of our presence. They weren’t entirely successful, but many elders still burned or were sent into torpor. Then came Constantine and his battlefield conversion, followed by the victory he was promised if he took up the Christian faith. The founding of Nova Roma in Byzantium split the empire as the Church was also split into east and west. Some Toreador, such as Menippus and his childer, and those of Hesiod, who burned in the great fire, chose to flee to the east, to Byzantium. My own sire Theophano remained in Rome with her childer and vassals, in an effort to preserve what remained. In the end, her work and that of our clan failed to protect Rome from the barbarians. It was not a desire to maintain the Empire’s political power. What did the Toreador care which mortal wore the crown of Caesar and claimed the Empire? Such rulers came and went. It was the glory and beauty of Rome that our clan sought to protect and preserve. Eventually even the city itself, its monuments, buildings and aqueducts, were of little importance compared to the essence of Rome, its art, literature and ideas. As the barbarians swarmed over the remains of the Eternal City like flies on a corpse, many Toreador did what was necessary to preserve that which remained.

The Flowering of Chivalry The darkness that descended over civilization after the fall of Rome almost seemed to smother the spirit of our clan. Although we continued to seek out and preserve beauty where and when we found it, it seemed that the world grew increasingly ugly. What remained for us to preserve? What beauty could we create? I know that some found solace in the works of the Church, while others sought artistry wherever they could find it in the world. Much of what has survived in the Long Night has been

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through our efforts, although the world may never know it. Perhaps this devotion to the cause of preservation led to our clan’s interest in the ways of chivalry. Some might say that it is a natural step from defender of beauty and truth to champion of the oppressed and the needy. Mayhap our keeping of the old songs and tales helped it along. Whatever the case, the knightly vocation fired the blood of many a Toreador with a faith and passion not seen in many years. We have taken to the ways of chivalry as if made for them, and Toreador are found in knightly orders throughout the world. Indeed, our clan founded most of the Cainite orders of knighthood and we maintain them still.

Now the Crusade draws toward a fateful conclusion, with the Grand Court calling upon its allies to support the royal army in its attack on Toulouse and Count Raymond VII. Whichever side is victorious, much Toreador blood will have been spilled on either side, and the Courts of Love have been rent by war. How will our troubadours and poets record these deeds, and will those who fought for both sides be remembered? What will we, the keepers of beauty, choose to discard from our history because of its ugliness?

Points of Contention The Toreador maintain the outward appearance of harmony, but they are also among the most passionate of Cainites, which can lead them into various conflicts, often before they’re even aware of it.

The Albigensian Crusade The Crusade against the Cathar heretics of Albi must have seemed a noble cause to Cainite and mortal knights alike at first. But as with so many noble causes over the centuries, this one proved inexorably entangled with politics. It was shortly after the massacre at Béziers that King Etienne accused Esclarmonde the Black of treason and conspiring with the Lasombra of Aragon. That she chose not to appear before the Grand Count to answer his charges only confirmed those charges in the minds of many. So it was that many neonate knights, Toreador and Venture alike, took up arms and joined with crusading forces from the north and east to march into Toulouse and the surrounding lands. They struck deep into the Pyrenees, seeking heretic Cathars and supporters of the Cainite Heresy as well. They fought against those loyal to Queen Esclarmonde, pitting Cainites of the same blood against each other on the field. Many met Final Death in the Crusade on both sides, in a war lasting for 14 years.

FROM THE COMMENTARIES OF ETIENNE OF POITOU:

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his work was written before the invasion of Labécède and before the king’s regent chose to negotiate with Raymond VII. Not one bit of the ugliness of the Albigensian Crusade has been overlooked or forgotten. Certainly not the evidence of Esclarmonde’s collaboration with the Lasombra or her sympathies for the Cathar Heresy — and other heresies besides. The Courts of Love have not forgotten how to make war, and the keepers of beauty must be willing to shed blood, if need be, to preserve it.

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HISTORY FOR TOREADOR CHARACTERS

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s Katherine of Montpellier notes, the Toreador have a tendency to romanticize history as they do everything else in their existence. That does not change the events that individual members of the Toreador clan have experienced, however. Some Toreador elders recall history in all of its gory detail, even if they, too, have a tendency to romanticize any retellings of it. History can have a subtle influence on younger Toreador characters in the time of the War of Princes. More than a few Toreador have chosen childer based on a resemblance to someone — mortal or Cainite — whom they knew long ago. That history may end up repeating itself in one way or another. Storytellers can make an interesting tale out of two parallel stories, one in the past, one in the present, comparing the events of a Toreador’s unlife in both. Their romantic attitude toward history is often reflected in how Toreadors choose to retell their history through their art. Such scholarship as artistry may have unexpected effects in the modern nights. For example, a particular interpretation of the events before and after the Great Flood intended for a play may arouse the interest (or ire) of the local prince. A great historical poem, song or play about tragic love may have echoes in the current situation facing the character, or Toreador artistry might even go beyond stirring just the emotions. Perhaps a particular performance incorporates elements that awaken an elder Cainite from torpor by recalling elements of his own ancient existence.

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Knighthood and Chivalry Although the Toreador have embraced the ideals of chivalry wholeheartedly, not all Cainites achieve those ideals. As mortal rulers and potentates do, elder Cainites often use knighthood and chivalry to keep the young and passionate occupied while they go about their business. Knightly orders are a fine place to put fiery neonates to give them purpose in their unlives beyond plotting against their sires. It also inculcates qualities of loyalty and honor into them, which their elders may be able to manipulate toward their own ends. That is not to say that Cainite chivalry and knighthood are shams created by the elder generations, only that they are not as pure as some Toreador wish to believe. Rivalries between different knightly orders, or between individual knights, are sources of conflict in a chronicle. Knightly orders have become more important than ever since the start of the War of Princes, and Cainite nobles seek to curry their favor or maintain their loyalty. Toreador knights are often followers of the Path of Chivalry (belonging to the Road of Kings), although the Road of Humanity is also well represented among the flower of Cainite knighthood. For more on Cainite orders of knighthood and the roads, see Ashen Knight and Road of Kings.

Courtly Love Another human custom that the Cainites have adopted is that of courtly love, which the Toreador have embraced with their usual enthusiasm. Most scandalously, this practice has encouraged Cainites to take on mortal paramours and to become completely (some say slavishly) devoted to them. It has also led to Cainite ladies gaining power and influence within the Courts of the Damned and within mortal society as well. This dangerous game risks exposing the existence of the Damned, especially in noble circles where powerful forces may be moved against them. Even as chaste as Cainite courtly love of necessity is, romance and passion are also powerful forces. They add an additional layer of complexity to the oaths of fealty and other demands placed on a Cainite’s loyalty in the Dark Medieval world.

The Albigensian Crusade In the Toreador stronghold of France, the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathar Heresy has ended only recently. The struggle provided cover for crusades against the Cainite Heresy as well, which did not always prove as successful. In particular,

Esclarmonde the Black, Queen of Toulouse, is besieged by her enemies for her support of Cathar heresy. This has helped unify other courts against a common enemy but has also led to conflict among the Cainites of the Courts of Love. Neonate knights may have seen combat during the Crusade or may have been Embraced during that time to strengthen the ranks thinned by war and the fires of the inquisitors. Esclarmonde has fortified her position in the Pyrenees, besieged by both mortal crusaders and by Cainites loyal to Etienne of Poitou and Matriarch Salianna. The accusations of treason against Esclarmonde may prove a self-fulfilling prophecy as she is forced to seek allies wherever she can find them, to gather the strength to take the conflict to her accusers.

Player’s Toolbox Players of Toreador characters can use the following ideas as inspiration for different character story hooks:

Oaths and Duty • You love a beautiful and noble lady with all your heart and have sworn yourself to her. This lady fair is a mortal, and you have broken Cainite law by telling her of your true nature. As proof of her mettle she had not recoiled from you but loves you still, and has willingly accepted the gift of your vitae to keep her youthful and beautiful for all time. She is the source of your strength and inspires you toward what you might achieve. • You are a sworn vassal of the embattled Queen Esclarmonde, called “the Black” by some. Although considered a heretic and traitor by outsiders, you know your Queen to be a woman of strength and wisdom. Her domain stands against Cainite crusaders and mortal inquisitors. Though it may require allying with Cainites of the Low Clans or even stranger forces that lurk in the Pyrenees, you will do what you must to serve your rightful liege. • Though of low birth you feel that your Embrace into one of the High Clans has elevated you, such that you can fulfill your lifelong dream of knighthood. You will do whatever it takes to prove yourself worthy to earn your spurs, and you have been faithfully studying all the skills you will need to become a true knight. More importantly, you adhere to the code of chivalry with all your heart.

Passion and Love • Your Embrace snatched you from the arms of death from illness and gave you eternal unlife, but it also separated you forever from your mortal beloved, who

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believes you dead and gone. You cannot bear to reveal the truth, knowing that the two of you can never be together. So instead you have sworn to watch over your love from afar and act as silent guardian angel. Woe betide those who threaten your beloved. • As a mortal, you chanced to fall in love with a most beautiful Cainite, who in time acceded to your wish to take the Embrace, to enter the nighttime world of your lover. Now your love has withered on the vine and your beloved has rejected you for another. You are bound by oaths to obey your sire, and you do not wish to harm your love. The focus of your righteous anger is this new paramour who has stolen away your lover’s heart. You are certain that once this distraction is no more, things will be as they once were, forever.

Faith and Heresy • Your passion for scholarship and devotion to God have not changed since your Embrace, but their focus has shifted somewhat. You believe you have discovered a hitherto unknown Noddist fragment, which may have great import for the Cainite Heresy in particular. Now you are torn between revealing your discovery and keeping it hidden from those who might use it to fuel further heresy. • You were a part of the Children’s Crusade, though you never reached the Holy Land. Instead, you met Regis, the Prince of Marseilles, before you took ship in that city. Your youth and beauty sorely tempted “Saint” Regis, and he fed from you like a starving man. Then, moved to repent for his heinous deed as he crouched over your dying form, the Prince fed you a measure of his blood, giving you the Embrace. Now you will remain a child for all time, and your new father has rejected you as a reminder of his terrible sin. You have only your faith in God, and the beauty that Prince Regis so admired, to sustain you. • Though the mortal Cathars are now mostly martyrs to their faith, you are not. Instead of remaining true to your faith and being willing to die for a greater reward in Heaven, your cowardice has led God to curse you with this unliving existence, bestowed upon you by one of the Devil’s own. You have repented your sins and you will redeem yourself in the eyes of the Lord by both preaching His word and seeing the monsters that made you destroyed.

Tzimisce Give nothing to the dragon that he does not ask for. Not praise, not advice, not even a glance. To do so might attract his attention too closely. — Advice traditionally given to Cainites visiting a Tzimisce voivode As told by Oszkar Gergo Obertus, Former Book-

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keeper at the Library of the Forgotten: Sit down and be silent. Sit, damn you! What I’ve done to deserve this I cannot even imagine. I’ve a thousand and one things that need doing before sunset, and lecturing you bastards is not one of them. The master says I must teach you, so I teach you, but you damn well better learn swiftly, for I’ve no intention of repeating a single word! Right. Let us speak of your masters and mine, the Tzimisce — called Fiends by those who would denigrate their accomplishments and their inherent nobility. What? Yes, like the Tremere. Interrupt me again, brat, and I’ll have your tongue permanently affixed to the roof of your mouth. I’m not going to bother you with stories of Caine. You’ve heard them all, and frankly, they’re boring. The history of the Tzimisce really begins with

The Embrace of the Eldest None knows his original name, if indeed he possessed one, so we call him by our own name, Tzimisce. It is said that he was an oracle when he was yet mortal, a magician and seer even before he was a Cainite. Ynosh, who Embraced him, chose him as the only worthy recipient of the power he had to offer. The Eldest’s Embrace was not like those of other, normal Cainites. Ynosh focused his will and drew forth the most primordial part of himself, saturating his vitae with everything that made him more than mortal before bestowing this gift upon Tzimisce. This great Embrace made the Eldest far more than his brothers among the third generation. Where they were tainted, he was pure. Where they were still tethered to their human frames and their past lives, he was able to combine his earlier magics with the power bestowed upon him, and to use them both to begin, even in his earliest nights, the metamorphosis that would enable him ultimately to transcend all mortal limitations.

Enoch did not remain in the Eldest’s home for long. Tzimisce’s brethren never particularly liked him — the jealousy of the inferior is a powerful emotion. Only Arikel, the first Toreador, made any pretense of caring for him, and that was only after he used his fleshshaping abilities to grant her the unearthly beauty that her foppish descendants now claim was hers by birth. It was not long after he’d done precisely the opposite to Nosferatu — and they claim, laughably, that their ugliness was a curse from Caine himself, so determined are they not to acknowledge the Eldest’s

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YNOSH’S CHOICE

ome Tzimisce scholars maintain a slightly different version of the Eldest’s Embrace than that accounted above. According to them, Ynosh the Lawgiver hadn’t intended to create a viable childe. He was hoping to free himself of the Beast. If he could rid himself of the spiritual impurities that tethered him to the Beast, he could escape it, for it would fade away without any link to his soul. Tzimisce, then, was to be the repository of all this corruption, a scapegoat who would carry the worst of Ynosh only long enough for the Lawgiver to kill him. It was only when he realized that the Eldest had come through the Embrace largely intact, that he had proved strong enough to master the horror foisted upon him, that Ynosh relented and allowed his offspring to survive. Most who do not believe in this account point to a single, glaring inconsistency. Why, if Ynosh intended simply to slaughter his offspring outright, did he choose an oracle and a magician to be the repository of his seed? Surely he could have chosen a more expendable and less useful mortal to carry his waste. This has led some of the Fiends to develop yet a third theory of their genesis, one that combines the other two into an even more frightening concept. Perhaps Ynosh did indeed deliberately infect the Eldest with the vilest and most corrupt parts of his soul. But suppose, they say, his purpose in doing so was not to kill the bearer of his sins out of hand? Suppose he intended from the beginning to let his offspring survive, and he chose Tzimisce precisely because he had the necessary capabilities to master the Lawgiver’s impurities? If this is true, it means that Ynosh deliberately created the clan of Cainites often credited with being the most cruel and inhuman creatures ever to walk the Earth. What his motives for doing this might have been, even the eldest Fiends hesitate to speculate. They are certain, however, that the Eldest himself knows, and that he will reveal their purpose to them when the time is right. Until then, they see no need at all to rein in their darkest impulses, for they are truly no more and no less than they were born — or, rather, made — to be.

power over them! — that Tzimisce decided that he could no longer remain in the city with his inferiors. They were too tied to their mortal lives, too bound by mortal limitations. If the Eldest and his eventual descendants were to grow beyond those limitations, to truly discover their potential, it would not be within the streets of Enoch. The Eldest’s

Years of Wandering proved only moderately useful. During this time, as his gifts as an oracle waned, he walked where his instincts led him. He Embraced for the first time, not for companionship, but so he might have additional eyes and hands to search the world and experiment with means of rising above the limitations of the mortal form. Additionally, after consuming his first childe, Gallod, from within, he began traveling with a mortal entourage, to ensure a ready supply of vitae. During these travels, he Embraced many of the most famous and infamous Tzimisce: Demdemeh, Yorak, the Dracon. And one other who should be famous, but is not: Ionache. I’ll come to him later.

THE DARK CONTINENT t is a closely kept secret of the clan, known only to those few ancient Tzimisce who accompanied the Eldest on his journeys and some of their childer. Tzimisce left Enoch long before any of the other Antediluvians, or so the clan’s legends claim. Yet when the Eldest reached the edges of Africa in his wanderings, he made a discovery so frightful it disturbed even so powerful a being as he. Africa already boasted its own Cainite population! Where, and from whom, they could possibly have come from is a mystery that burns in the minds of those few Tzimisce who are aware of it. Surely none of the second or third generation could have reached those lands before the Eldest! Were these African vampires a separate lineage, birthed from Caine during his wanderings in the land of Nod? Even worse, did they come from some other source entirely, bearing no relation to Caine at all? To date, the Tzimisce have found no answers, and those few Laibon to whom they have spoken have not been particularly forthcoming.

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In all these travels, however, the Eldest found no lands, no demesne, that called to him as strongly as

Transdanubia particularly the area of the Carpathian Mountains and the regions now known as Hungary and Transylvania. At first, the Eldest was not certain what precisely it was that drew him here. A simple instinct? The last lingering traces of his prophetic abilities? Simple aesthetics? As Tzimisce himself searched and experimented, even returning to the practice of magics he had not once used since his Embrace, his clan spread beyond the Transdanubian lands to claim the entirety of the European continent. Where the other Cainites still stagnated in Enoch, our masters controlled entire demesnes, some as large as any modern nation. No roads yet existed, but the travel and migration of the kine had pressed natural trails into the earth, and over these the Tzimisce watched, collecting a “toll” of vitae from those who passed. Had they not been challenged, and in some instances beaten back, by the werewolves native to the European wilds, the Tzimisce would truly have been masters of the entire known world. The Eldest, whose magics had grown more potent than ever and whose oracular dreams had returned to him, empowered by something in the Carpathian region, finally discovered what it was that had drawn him to this place. It was called

Kupala a demon and a god of ancient nights, buried in the earth, bound to the Carpathian soil. For many a night, the Eldest and the demon held discourse, and the sorcerous powers of the Eldest — and his childer — grew mighty indeed. They developed the true power of the koldun, magic that draws strength from the very earth. Was this a gift granted by Kupala, taught to the Eldest by a creature older even than he? Or did the Eldest himself develop it by observing and even stealing power from that imprisoned fallen god? Does the sorcery of the koldun stave off Kupala’s infestation and infection of the land, or spread it ever more swiftly? If the Tzimisce koldun themselves cannot agree on an answer, I certainly would not dare hazard a guess. It was during this period, due to the Eldest’s interaction with Kupala and his practice of drawing on the power of the earth around him for use in koldunic sorcery, that Tzimisce and his descendents developed their permanent tie to the land itself. No “curse of Caine,” despite the superstitious blathering

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NO PLACE LIKE HOME

ome Tzimisce doubt the existence of the demon Kupala — or, at the very least, doubt that he is responsible for most of the evils and the power attributed to him. They have a different theory regarding the Eldest’s attraction to the Carpathian region, and a different explanation for both the taint in the land and the growth of koldunic sorcery. They believe that it was here, far from Enoch itself, that Ynosh first located the Eldest; that Tzimisce was a seer, not of the kine population of that great city, but of the nomadic tribes of Eastern Europe. Why Ynosh would have traveled so far to find his childe depends on which version of the Eldest’s Embrace one believes. If Ynosh intended to gift his offspring with concentrated power — or concentrated evil — perhaps he wandered out here in search of a worthy candidate. If, as others maintain, he intended to kill his childe after ridding himself of all his worst features, perhaps he simply wished to complete his task well away from his home, for fear of corrupting it. In either event, by this account, the Eldest’s Embrace occurred not on the streets of Enoch but in the shadows of the Carpathians. The power Ynosh released in this unusual Embrace went not only into Tzimisce himself but soaked into the very land around them. Thus, it was only here that Tzimisce could come into his own, only here that he could develop his powers to their greatest extent. Kupala, if it exists at all, is merely a byproduct of that power, Ynosh’s own worst traits bound to the land and given sentience. It is, in effect, a part of the Eldest himself. of the other clans, this was simply a byproduct of the Tzimisce’s sorcerous attributes and is a sign of purity, not a weakness. It was then, as the Tzimisce were truly consolidating their power over the mortal tribes of the region, that God, in His “infinite mercy,” sent

The Great Flood Cainites and kine alike fled to higher lands as the rivers overflowed their banks and the floodwaters rose, until the peaks of the Carpathians became nothing shy of a small island kingdom, ruled over by the

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INBREEDING AND EVOLUTION

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y all accounts, none of these earliest revenant families — in fact, none who predate the Basarab, who existed at the time of the Roman legions — survive to the 13th century. Their own masters slaughtered some of them as punishment for some crime or disobedience, real or perceived. Others presumably bred themselves out of existence, inbreeding generation upon generation until they could reproduce no longer. If this is true, then the current revenant families, including the Obertus to which our esteemed narrator belongs, can look forward to nothing but eventual oblivion. The Dark Medieval world holds a surfeit of secrets in its shadowed corners, however, and it remains possible that some of these earlier revenants survive still, hidden away either by their Tzimisce masters or at their own instigation. If so, even the most inhuman Fiend must shudder for a moment at the attempt to imagine what such hideous creatures might have become after so many years of both mortal and Cainite corruption. native Tzimisce. They demanded tithe from all who would dwell there, taking at least one child from each mortal family. In some instances, a particular lord would claim entire families as his own, and it was this practice that eventually resulted in the revenant families as they exist today. This period of near ultimate power, when the Tzimisce ruled the only land for hundreds of leagues and newcomers living and undead alike had to bow to their will or find themselves quite literally adrift, developed the clan’s taste for power into the form it has taken in these modern nights. For some, it was a potent enough addiction that they abandoned their search for the means to expand themselves beyond human and Cainite limitations. What need had they to “make” themselves superior to others when they already clearly were superior by dint of their social position? Others maintained the Eldest’s quest but determined that they could better do so if they might command the resources of others. The Tzimisce began to divide the “Carpathian Islands” up into a series of individual demesnes, each ruled by either a single Cainite or a council of Tzimisce. Each lord could command others who were younger in age and possessed less status within the clan, but he was obligated in turn to obey those above him — in theory, at any rate. This near-feudal arrangement, created long be-

fore the kine ever developed such a system, would eventually give birth to the voivodate that rules much of Eastern Europe now. It was also during this period that the Tzimisce developed their refined sense of hospitality. With so many dwelling in so limited an area, an elaborate and ironclad system of etiquette was the only way to prevent constant bloodshed over the slightest perceived insults... Much of that intricate style of interaction has been lost, for it faded away when its use was no longer required, but portions of it — including the Tzimisce notions of a host’s obligations to his guests, and the reverse — remain.

After the Flood as the waters receded, the Tzimisce looked down upon the vast demesnes that should be theirs and were angered to see vast human tribes, accompanied by Nosferatu, Gangrel and other Cainites, moving into and usurping their lands. (Precisely where these human tribes come from I cannot say; apparently God’s flood was not as effective as the Bible would have us believe.) For a time, the Tzimisce slaughtered all Cainites who encroached upon their lands, but eventually the numbers became such that some form of accommodation was required. The Tzimisce made it very clear to all newcomers that these lands were theirs — but as long as the other Cainites would acknowledge their dominance, and did not encroach on any individual demesnes, the Tzimisce would allow them to pass through and even make homes in the region. For their own part, the Tzimisce had grown so accustomed to the near-feudal system they have developed in the Carpathians that they maintained that way of unlife even after the flood. Voivodes and other lords ruled over relatively small territories absolutely but felt little concern for anything that occurred beyond their borders. Each was a king and a god, but only within a very limited area. You recall, I trust, my mention of a “forgotten” elder by the name of Ionache? Good; I’d hate to think your memories were that poor. It was he who proposed the pseudofeudal system the Tzimisce followed during the nights of the flood. It was also he who first claimed the title of voivode, and who established a private and individual demesne once the floodwaters receded. His demesne was never the largest, but his rule was absolute. Remember, I speak of a contemporary of Yorak and the Dracon, so you have some inkling of the power Ionache wielded.

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THE ELDEST VANISHES

t was during this period that Tzimisce himself disappeared. Theories of what might have happened to him run rampant through the clan. Was he attacked by some outside force, perhaps another Cainite clan or the area’s werewolves? Did he decide he had learned all he could from the region and move on? Or, just perhaps, did he successfully transform himself into something greater than mortal and Cainite both? As of yet, none can say with any certainty. I cannot say with certainty what might have happened to Ionache. His territory was located in Western Hungary, very near the lands now claimed by the Ventrue whore Nova Arpad, and he disappeared less than a year before she first came to prominence in the region. Whether he fell victim to Ventrue treachery or some other doom, I know not. It is, I suppose, possible that he yet survives, but I cannot imagine anything other than Final Death that could prevent one such as he from making every effort to take back his land. It was this policy of relative isolation on the part of individual Tzimisce that allowed such major mortal societies as Hellenistic Greece and then Rome to flourish, for much travel across the continent, and even the resettling of much of the world after the Flood, passed through the Transdanubian lands. Far be it from me to criticize our masters, but perhaps they might have been better served to take a slightly more active role, for with the growth of Rome came

The Ventrue I have mentioned the cursed name of Arpad once already. Nova Arpad, Geza Arpad, and others — Ventrue claimants to Tzimisce power in Hungary. Arpad is a Hungarian name, of course, but if one traces back the lineage of the Ventrue who Embraced them, one inevitably finds oneself drawn to Rome. All roads lead, as they say. At any rate, the Ventrue formed the first true challenge our masters had for ownership of this land. The Tzimisce were stronger, their ties to the land unbreakable, their determination greater. Alas, what the Ventrue had were unity, something the fiercely independent Tzimisce lords and voivodes did not. Western Hungary and other territories, areas the Tzimisce had always considered their own but made little effort to maintain, became Ventrue demesnes.

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Even after Rome itself fell, the Ventrue remained. Local Tzimisce were not strong enough to expel them from their lands, and the Tzimisce of Transylvania and points east were more concerned with protecting their own demesnes than in aiding their clanmates in recovering lands already lost. The Tzimisce whose territories had been taken might have found willing allies in the Brujah, for many of them had fled here when Carthage fell, and they harbored a burning hatred for the Ventrue clan. Unfortunately, while some few Tzimisce welcomed the Brujah into their demesnes, many others saw the newcomers not as potential allies but as just more competitors for land and blood, and they spurned all attempts at contact. Thus the Brujah became just another Cainite minority in the region, where they might have been so much more. Some of the voivodes, such as great Yorak himself, realized that they must expand their influence and expertise beyond their traditional arenas. They must acquire childer who knew the lands beyond the Transdanubian lands, and those skilled in the changing face of kine cultures, governments and the like. Yorak himself Embraced the infamous Shaagra of the Vroi tribe, an indicator of the Tzimisce interest in the various Hun, Goth and Slavic tribes, which they hoped might prove useful in regaining territory lost to the Ventrue and Malkavians. While these efforts were successful in expanding Tzimisce influence geographically, and in bringing new skills and specializations into the clan, it proved less effective in shaking the Ventrue grip on Western Hungary. Still, the Ventrue could have been dealt with, eventually, had they been the only threat worrying the Tzimisce. This was not to be. Our masters’ greatest rivals came from an unexpected source, a small cabal of human wizards who had set up a chantry in the Carpathian Mountains. They were called

House Tremere As mortal mages, they were a curiosity, little more. Though neither side likes to admit to it now, they even had occasional dealings with the Tzimisce, trading their magical acumen on one matter for ancient knowledge possessed by the Tzimisce on another. I have even heard rumors that one or two Tzimisce Embraced during that time bear the name Tremere, a fact that they hide — with good cause — in modern nights. They dwelt within our masters’ territory, but as they showed little interest in temporal power and weren’t competing for the same resources, the voivodes let them be.

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And how did the bastards repay our lords’ munificence in allowing them to live freely in Tzimisce lands? Through betrayal, through theft! They stole Tzimisce blood, slaying some of the eldest and purest of the clan to gain it, and with it concocted some vile, unholy substance that duplicated the Embrace, bestowing upon themselves the curse of Caine. Not enough that they possess great mystic powers, they must have immortality as well — immortality they did not earn, they did not deserve, that they stole from their betters! Some of the Tzimisce saw it coming. The kolduns read omens in the waters and the earth, heard the earth cry out beneath the weight of the great evil that was even then taking place in the peaks of the Carpathians. This, they said, was a doom laid upon the Tzimisce for their failure to maintain the land as was its right, a doom that would cost Tzimisce blood, Tzimisce lands, Tzimisce — assuming they ever had such a thing — souls. Most of the voivodes ignored these warnings until it was far, far too late. Some few, led by Vladimir Rustovitch, responded, launching strikes against the Tremere chantry of Ceoris

THE WAR WITH THE SWORDBEARER

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or more on Jürgen’s invasion, the war between the Tzimisce and the Ventrue, and the formation of the Obertus State between the warring parties, see Bitter Crusade, Under the Black Cross, Dark Ages Europe and, of course, the Ventrue portion of this chapter. and their other, smaller chantries as well, within weeks of the Usurpers’ unholy transformation... Had Rustovitch moved with the might of the entire clan behind him, the scourge of the Tremere would assuredly have been wiped from the Earth. Alas, he had no such power. He had only the forces and the magics of a bare portion of the clan, as well as several Gangrel and Nosferatu who were wise enough to see that the elimination of the Tremere was in their best interests. It was might enough to slaughter many of the Usurpers, to destroy a number of their chantries, to drive them back very nearly to Ceoris itself. It was not,

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HISTORY FOR TZIMISCE CHARACTERS